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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


v 


''"«ea 


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jK/S^^^O'-i^-d^ 


z-^f^"' 


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PEDESTRIAN  TOUR  IN  EUROPE. 


VIEWS  A-FOOT: 


OR 


EUROPE  SEEN  WITH  KNAPSACK  AND  STAFF. 

BY 

J.    BAYARD    TAYLOR. 

WITH    A    PREFACE    BY    N.    P.   WILLIS. 


Joj;  on,  jog  on,  the  foot-path  wav. 

And  merrily  hent  the  stile-a  ; 
A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day. 

Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a. 

Winter's  Tale. 


FOURTEENTH    EDITION,    AVITH    ADDITIONS. 
AND    A    PORTRAIT    FROM    A    SKETCH   BY    T.    B.    READ. 

COMPLETE    IN    ONE    VOL. 


NEW- YORK: 
GEORGE   P.   PUTNAM,   155  BROADWAY, 

And    142    Strand,    London. 
1852. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1846,  by 

A/ILEY  AND  J^UTNAM. 

In  the  Clerk's  OfTice  ot  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Soiitliern  District  of  New  York. 


TO 

'frank    TAYLOR, 

THESE  RECORDS   OF   THE   PILGRIMAGE. 

WHOSE    TOILS    AND   ENJOYMENTS   WE    HAVE    SHARED    TOGETHER, 

ARE 

AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED. 

BY 

HIS    RELATIVE    A.ND   FRIEND. 


TO  THE  READER. 


In  presenting  to  the  public  a  new  and  improved  edition  of  this  recoid  of 
his  wanderings,  the  author  could  not  justly  suffer  the  opportunity  to  go  by, 
without  expressing  his  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the  kindness  with  which 
his  work  has  been  received.  Although  his  aim  was  simply  to  give  a  narra- 
tive of  personal  experience,  which  it  was  hoped  might  be  of  some  value  to 
many  a  toiling  student  in  the  college  of  the  world,  he  was  aware  that  it 
would  be  considered  a  test  of  his  literary  ability,  and  that  whatever  hearing 
he  might  have  hoped  to  obtain  for  the  works  of  maturer  years,  would  be  de- 
pendent on  its  success.  With  a  total  ignorance  of  the  arts  of  book-making, 
and  uncertain  v/hether  a  new  voice  from  the  track  where  thousands  had  been 
before  him,  would  find  a  patient  auditory,  it  was  therefore  not  without  con- 
siderable anxiety  that  he  gave  his  volume  to  the  world.  But  he  was  not 
prepared  to  hope  for  such  an  immediate  and  generous  favor  as  it  received. 
By  the  press  of  our  own  countiy,  as  well  as  the  more  rigid  reviewers  of 
Great  Britain,  whatever  merits  it  possesses  were  cordially  appreciated,  while 
its  faults  were  but  lightly  touched — perhaps  from  a  sympathy  with  the  youth 
of  the  author  and  the  plan  of  his  enthusiastic  pilgrimage.  But  what  was 
most  grateful  of  all,  he  learned  that  many  another  young  and  hopeful  spirit 
had  been  profited  and  encouraged  by  his  own  experience,  and  was  ready  to 
try  the  world  with  as  little  dependence  on  worldly  means.  The  letters  he 
received  from  persons  whose  hopes  and  circumstances  were  what  his  own 
had  been,  gave  welcome  evidence  that  he  had  not  written  in  vain.  He  will 
not  say  that  this  knowledge  repaid  him  for  whatever  toil  and  hardship  he  had 
undergone ;  whoever  is  subjected  to  the  same  experience  will  learn  that  it 
brings  its  own  reward  to  the  mand  ; — but  it  will  nerve  him  henceforth  to  bear 
any  lot,  however  severe,  through  which  he  may  be  enabled  to  say  a  word 
that  shall  cheer  or  strengthen  another. 

He  is  now  fully  aware  how  much  he  has  omitted  from  these  pao-es,  which 
would  have  been  curious  and  perhaps  instructive  to  the  reader ; — how  many 
blunders  of  inexperience  ;    how  much  thoughtless  confidence  in  the  world; 


1 1--    -I.  w   d  '%*   a   b  A   B 


iv  TO  THE  READER. 


how  many  painful  struggles  with  pride,  and  a  too-selfish  independence  ;  how 
many  strange  extremities  of  want  and  amusing  expedients  of  relief.  His 
reluctance  to  relate  much  that  was  entirely  personal  and  could  not  have  been 
told  without  some  little  sacrifice  of  feeling,  has  since  been  regretted,  from 
the  belief  that  it  might  have  been  useful  to  others.  Perhaps,  however,  it 
will  be  better  that  each  one  should  learn  these  lessons  for  himself.  There 
is  a  sensation  of  novelty,  which,  even  in  the  most  embarrassing  situations, 
produces  a  desperate  kind  of  enjoyment,  and  in  addition  to  this,  the  sufferer's 
sympathies  for  humanity  are  very  much  deepened  and  enlarged  by  an  ac- 
quaintance with  its  trials. 

In  preparing  the  present  edition  of  his  book,  the  author  at  first  contem- 
plated a  complete  revision.  The  fact  that  seven  editions  had  been  sold  in 
a  year  and  a  half  from  the  publication,  seemed  to  require  that  he  should  make 
such  improvements  as  his  riper  judgment  suggested,  and  which  should  render 
it  more  worthy  of  so  extensive  a  circulation.  But  further  reflection  con- 
vinced him  that  it  would  be  best  to  make  little  change.  It  was  written 
during  his  wanderings — partly  by  the  wayside,  when  resting  at  mid-day,  and 
partly  on  the  rough  tables  of  peasant  inns,  in  the  stillness  of  deserted  ruins, 
or  amid  the  sublime  solitude  of  the  mountain-top.  It  thus  reflects  faithfully 
the  impress  of  his  own  mind,  in  every  part  of  the  journey,  and  he  would 
prefer  that  it  should  remain  a  boyish  work,  however  lacking  in  finish  of 
composition,  rather  than  risk  taking  away  whatever  spirit  it  may  have  caught 
from  nature.  Some  particulars,  which  have  been  desired  by  persons  about 
to  undertake  a  similar  journey,  and  which  may  be  generally  interesting,  have 
been  given  in  a  new  chapter  at  the  close.  With  this  addition,  and  that  of  a 
sketch  illustrating  the  costun:e  of  a  pedestrian,  which  has  been  made  by  a 
poet  and  artist  friend,  the  work  is  again  given  to  the  public.  The  author 
may  hereafter  be  better  able  to  deserve  'heir  commendation.  His  wander- 
ings are  not  yet  over. 

New- York,  August,  1848 


PREFACE. 


BY  N.  P.  WILLIS. 


• 

The  book  which  follows,  requires  httle  or  no  introduction. 
It  tells  its  own  story,  and  tells  it  well.  The  interest  in  it, 
which  induces  the  writer  of  this  preface  to  be  its  usher  to 
the  public,  is  simply  that  of  his  having  chanced  to  be  among 
the  first  appreciators  of  the  author's  talent — an  appreciation 
that  has  since  been  so  more  than  justified,  that  the  writer  is 
proud  to  call  the  author  of  this  book  his  friend,  and  bespeak 
attention  to  the  peculiar  energies  he  has  displayed  in  travel 
and  authorship.  Mr.  Taylor's  poetical  productions  w^hile  he 
was  still  a  printer's  apprentice,  made  a  strong  impression  on 
the  writer's  mind,  and  he  gave  them  their  due  of  praise  ac- 
cordingly in  the  newspaper  of  which  he  was  then  Editor. 
Some  correspondence  ensued,  and  other  fine  pieces  of  writ- 
ing strengthened  the  admiration  thus  awakened,  and  when 
the  young  poet-mechanic  came  to  the  city,  and  modestly  an  • 
nounced  the  bold  determination  of  visitinsr  forei2:n  lands— 
with  means,  if  they  could  be  got,  but  with  reliance  on 
manual  labor  if  tlie}^  could  not — the  writer,  understanding 
the  man,  and  seeing  how  capable  he  was  of  carrying  out 
his  manly  and  enthusiastic  scheme,  and  that  it  would  work 
uncorruptingly  for  the  improvement  of  his  mind  and  cha- 
racter, counselled  him  to  go.  He  went — his  book  tells  how 
successfully  for  all  his  purposes.    He  has  returned,  after  two 


vi  PREFACE. 

years'  absence,  with  large  knowledge  of  the  world,  of  men 
and  of  manners,  with  a  pure,  invigorated  and  healthy  mind, 
having  passed  all  this  time  abroad,  and  seen  and  accomplished 
more  than  most  travelers,  at  the  cost  of  only  $500,  and  this 
stun  earned  on  the  road.  This,  in  the  writer's  opmion,  is 
a  fine  instance  of  character  and  energy.  The  book,  which 
records  the  difficulties  and  struggles  of  a  printer's  apprentice 
achieving  this,  must  be  interesting  to  Americans.  The  pride 
of  the  country  is  in  its  self-made  men.  • 

What  Mr.  Taylor  is,  or  what  he  is  yet  to  become,  can- 
not well  be  touched  upon  here,  but  tliat  it  will  yet  be  written, 
and  on  a  bright  page,  is^  of  course,  his  own  confident  hope 
and  the  writer's  confident  expectation.  The  book,  which  is 
the  record  of  his  progress  thus  far,  is  novv"  cordially  com- 
mended  to  the  public,  and  it  will  be  read,  perhaps,  more 
understandingly  after  a  perusal  of  the  following  outline 
sketch  of  the  difficulties  the  author  had  to  contend  with — a 
letter  written  in  reply  to  a  note  from  the  writer  asking  for 
some  of  the  particulars  of  his  start  and  progress  : 

To.  Mr.  Willis  — 

My  dear  Sir  : — 
Nearly  three  years  ago  (in  the  beginning  of  1844)  the 
time  for  accomplishmg  my  long  cherished  desire  of  visiting 
Europe,  seemed  to  arrive.  A  cousin,  who  had  long  intended 
going  abroad,  was  to  leave  in  a  few  months,  and  although  1 
was  then  surrounded  by  the  most  unfavorable  circumstances, 
I  determined  to  accompany  him,  at  v/hatcver  hazard.  T  haa 
still  two  years  of  my  apprenticeship  to  serve  out ;  I  was  en- 
tirely without  means,  and  my  project  was  strongly  opposed 
by  my  friends^  as  something  too  visionary  to  be  practicable 


PREFACE.  vii 


A  short  time  before,  Mr.  Griswold  advised  me  to  pub- 
lish a  small  volume  of  youthful  effusions,  a  few  of  which 
had  appeared  in  Graham's  Magazine,  which  he  then  edited ; 
the  idea  struck  me,  that  by  so  doing,  I  might,  if  they  should 
be  favorably  noticed,  obtain  a  newspaper  correspondence 
which  would  enable  me  to  make  the  start. 

The  volume  was  published  ;  a  sufficient  number  was  sold 
among  my  friends  to  defray  all  expenses,  and  it  was  chari- 
tably noticed  by  the  Philadelphia  press.  Some  literary 
friends,  to  whom  I  confided  my  design,  promised  to  aid  me 
with  their  influence.  Trusting  to  this,  I  made  arrangements 
for  leaving  the  printing-office,  which  I  succeeded  in  doing, 
by  making  a  certain  compensation  for  the  remainder  of  my 
time.  I  was  now  fully  confident  of  success,  feeling  satisfied, 
that  a  strong  will  would  always  make  itself  a  way.  After 
many  applications  to  different  editors  and  as  many  disap- 
pointments, I  finally  succeeded,  about  two  weeks  before  our 
departure,  in  making  a  partial  engagement.  Mr.  Chandler 
of  the  United  States  Gazette  and  Mr.  Patterson  of  the  Satur- 
day Evening  Post,  paid  me  fifty  dollars,  each,  in  advance  for 
twelve  letters,  to  be  sent  from  Europe,  with  the  probabihty 
of  accepting  more,  if  these  should  be  satisfactory.  This, 
with  a  sum  which  I  received  from  Mr.  Graham  for  poems 
published  in  his  Magazine,  put  me  in  possession  of  about  a 
hundred  and  forty  dollars,  with  which  I  determined  to  start, 
trusting  to  future  remuneration  for  letters,  or  if  that  should 
fail,  to  my  skill  as  a  compositor,  fcr  I  supposed  I  could  at 
the  worst,  work  my  way  through  Europe,  like  the  German 
hand  werker.  Thus,  with  another  companion,  we  left 
home,  an  enthusiastic  and  hopeful  trio. 

I  need  not  trace  our  wanderings  at  length.  After  eight 
Itionths  of  guspense,  during  which  tiilie  my  small  meatie  were 


viii  PREFACE. 


entirely  exhausted,  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Patterson, 
continuing  the  engagement  for  the  remainder  of  my  stay, 
with  a  remittance  of  one  hundred  dollars  from  himself  and 
Mr.  Graham.  Other  remittances,  received  from  time  to  time, 
enabled  me  to  stay  abroad  two  years,  during  which  1  tra- 
veled on  foot  upwards  of  three  thousand  miles  in  Germany, 
Switzerland,  Italy  and  France.  I  was  obliged,  however,  to 
use  the  strictest  economy — to  live  on  pilgrim  fare,  and  do 
penance  in  rain  and  cold.  My  means  several  times  entirely 
failed ;  but  I  was  always  relieved  from  serious  difficulty 
through  unlooked-for  friends,  or  some  unexpected  turn  of 
fortune.  At  Rome,  owing  to  the  expenses  and  embarrass- 
ments of  traveling  in  Italy,  I  was  obliged  to  give  up  my 
original  design  of  proceeding  on  foot  to  Naples  and  across 
the  peninsula  to  Otranto,  sailing  thence  to  Corfu  and  making 
a  pedestrian  journey  through  Albania  and  Greece.  But  the 
main  object  of  my  pilgrimage  is  accomplished  ;  I  visited  the 
principal  places  of  interest  in  Europe,  enjoyed  her  grandest 
scenery  and  the  marvels  of  ancient  and  modern  art,  became 
familiar  vnih  other  languages,  other  customs  and  other  in- 
stitution?^ and  returned  home,  after  two  years'  absence,  Wil- 
li »ig  I'O-'v  vi^h  satisfied  curiosity,  to  resume  life  in  America. 

Yours,  most  sincerely, 

J.  Bayard  Taylor. 


30NTENTS. 


'AGE 

CHAPTER  I.— Tlie  Voyage 1 

II. — A  Day  in  Ireland c        .  .      & 

III. — Ben  Lomond  and  the  Highland  Lakes           ...  13 

IV.— The  Burns'  Festival 23 

V. — Walk  from  Edinburgh  over  the  Border  and  errival  at 

London 29 

VI.— Some  of  the  "  Sights"  of  London         -        ...  38 

VII.— Flight  through  Belgium 4G 

VIII.— The  Rhine  to  Heidelberg 52 

IX. — Scenes  in  and  around  Heidelberg      .        .        .         ,  58 

X. — A  Walk  throucrh  the  Odenwald 61 

XI. — Scenes  in   Frankfort — An  American  Composer — The 

Poet  Freiligrath .  73 

XII. — A  week  among  the  Students 82 

XIII. — Christmas  and  Newr  Year  in  Germany           .         ,        c  89 

XIV. — Winter  in  Frankfort — A  Fair,  an  Inundaticn^nda  Fire  94 

XV. — The  Dead  and  the  Deaf— Mendelssohn  the  Composer  104 

XVI. — Journey  on  Foot  from  Frankfort  to  Cassel            .         .  i09 

XVII. — Adventures  among  the  Hartz           ....  115 

XVIII. — Notes  in  Lcipsic  and  Dresden 125 

XIX. — Rambles  in  the  Saxon  Switzerland           .         .         .  134 

XX. — Scenes  in  Prague 143 

XXL — Journey  through  Eastern  Bohemia  and  Mora\'ia  to  the 

Danube 149 

XXII.— Vienna 156 

XXIIL— Up  the  Danube 171 

XXIV.— The  Unknown  Student 178 

XXV.— The  Austrian  Alps 182 

XXVL— jMunich 193 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER  XXVIL— Through  Wurtemberg  to  Heidelberg         .        .  205 

XXVIII.— Freiburg  and  the  Black  Forest      .        •         .  213 

XXIX. — People  and  Places  in  Eastern  Switzerland        .  221 

XXX. — Passage  of  the  St  Gothard  and  descent  into  Italy  231 

XXXI.— Milan 242 

XXXII.— Walk  from  Milan  to  Genoa  ....  247 

XXXIII. — Scenes  in  Genoa,  Leghorn  and  Pisa        .        .  252 

XXXIV.— Florence  and  its  Galleries     ....  262 

XXXV. — A  Pilgrimage  to  Vallombrosa     ....  272 

XXXVI. — Walk  to  Siena  and  Pratolino — Incidents  in  Flo- 

ence .  281 

XXXVII. — American  Art  in  Florence     ....  292 
XXXVIII. — An  Adventure  on  the  Great  St.  Bernard — Walks 

around  Florence 300 

'^XXIX. — Winter  Traveling  among  the  Appenines   .        .  308 

XL.— Rome 319 

XLI. — Tivoli  and  the  Roman  Campagna     .        .        -  333 
XLII. — Tivoli  and  the  Roman  Campagna  (^continued)  341 
XLIII. — Pilgrimage  to  Vaucluse  and  Journey  up  the  Rhone  347 
XLI  V. — Traveling  in  Burgundy — The  Miseries  of  a  Coun- 
try Dihgence 359 

XLV. — Poetical  Scenes  in  Paris            ....  4G5 

XLVI. — A  Glimpse  of  Normandy       ....  372 
XL  VII. — Lock  hart,  Bernard  Barton  and  Croly — London 

Chimes  and  Greenwich  Fair      .        .        .  376 


<^ 


VIEWS   A. FOOT. 


CHAPTER    I. 


THE    VOYAGE. 


An  enthusiastic  desire  of  visiting  the  Old  World  haunted  me 
from  early  childhood.  I  cherished  a  presentiment,  amounting 
almost  to  belief,  that  I  should  one  day  behold  the  scenes,  among 
which  my  fancy  had  so  long  wandered.  The  want  of  means 
was  for  a  time  a  serious  check  to  my  anticipations  ;  but  I  could 
not  content  myself  to  wait  until  I  had  slowly  accumulated  so 
large  a  sum  as  tourists  usually  spend  on  their  travels.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  a  more  humble  method  of  seeing  the  world  would 
place  within  the  power  of  almost  every  one,  what  has  hitherto 
been  deemed  the  privilege  of  the  wealthy  few.  Such  a  journey, 
too,  offered  advantages  for  becoming  acquainted  with  people  as 
well  as  places — for  observing  more  intimately,  the  effect  of  gov- 
ernment and  education,  and  more  than  all,  for  the  study  of  hu- 
man nature,  in  every  condition  of  life.  At  length  I  became  pos- 
sessed of  a  small  sum,  to  be  earned  by  letters  descriptive  of  things 
abroad,  and  on  the  1st  of  July,  1844,  set  sail  for  Liverpool,  with 
a  relative  and  friend,  whose  circumstances  were  somewhat  simi- 
lar to  mine.  How  far  the  success  of  the  experiment  and  the  ob- 
ject of  our  long  pilgrimage  were  attained,  these  pages  will  show. 


LAND  AND  SEA. ' 

There  are  springs  that  rise  in  the  greenwood's  heart, 

Where  its  leafy  glooms  are  cast, 
And  the  branches  droop  in  the  solemn  air, 

Unstirred  by  the  sweeping  blast. 

2 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


There  are  hills  that  lie  in  the  noontide  calm, 

On  the  lap  of  the  quiet  earth  ; 
Andj  cri)wn'd  with  gold  by  the  ripened  grain, 

Surround  my  place  of  birth. 

Dearer  are  these  to  ray  pining  heart, 

Than  the  beauty  of  the  deep, 
When  the  moonlight  falls  in  a  belt  of  gold 

On  the  waves  that  heave  in  sleep. 
The  rustling  talk  of  the  clustered  leaves 

That  shade  a  well-known  door, 
Is  sweeter  far  than  the  booming  sound 

Of  the  breaking  wave  before. 

When  night  on  the  ocean  sinks  calmly  down, 

I  climb  the  vessel's  prow, 
Where  the  foam- wreath  glows  with  its  phosphor  ligbt, 

Like  a  crown  on  a  sea-nymph's  brow. 
Above,  through  the  lattice  of  rope  and  spar, 

The  stars  in  their  beauty  burn  ; 
And  the  spirit  longs  to  ride  Cheir  beams, 

And  back  to  the  loved  return. 

They  say  that  the  sunset  is  brighter  far 

When  it  sinks  behind  the  sea-. 
That  the  stars  shine  out  witii  a  softer  fire — 

Not  thus  they  seem  to  me. 
Dearer  the  flush  of  the  crimson  west 

Through  trees  that  my  childhood  knew, 
When  the  star  of  love,  with  its  silver  lamp. 

Lights  the  homes  of  the  tried  and  true  ! 

Could  one  live  on  the  sense  of  beauty  alone,  exempt  from  the 
necessity  of"  creature  comforts,"  a  sea-voyage  would  be  delfght- 
ful.  To  the  landsman  there  is  sublimity  in  the  wild  and  ever- 
varied  forms  of  the  ocean  ;  they  fill  his  mind  with  living  images 
of  a  glory  he  had  only  dreamed  of  before.  But  we  would  have 
been  willing  to  forego  all  this  and  get  back  the  comforts  of  the 
shore.  At  New  York  we  took  passage  in  the  second  cabin  of 
the  Oxford,  wbich,  as  usual  in  the  Liverpool  packets,  consisted 
of  a  small  space  amid-ships,  fitted  up  with  rough,  temporary 
berths.  The  communication  with  the  deck  is  by  an  open  hatch- 
way, which  in  storms  is  closed  down.     As  the  passengers  in  this 


THE  ATLANTIC. 


cabin  furnish  their  own  provisions,  we  made  ourselves  acquainted 
with  the  contents  of  certain  storehouses  on  Pine  St.  wharf,  and 
purchased  a  large  box  of  provisions,  which  was  stowed  away  under 
our  narrow  berth.  The  cook,  for  a  small  compensation,  took  on 
himself  the  charge  of  preparing  them,  and  we  made  ourselves  as 
comfortable  as  the  close,  dark  dwelling  would  admit. 

As  we  approached  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland,  a  gale  arose, 
which  for  two  days  and  nights  carried  us  on,  careering  Mazeppa- 
like,  up  hill  and  down.  The  sea  looked  truly  magnificent,  al- 
though the  sailors  told  us  it  was  nothing  at  all  in  comparison  with 
the  storms  of  winter.  But  we  were  not  permitted  to  pass  the 
Banks,  without  experiencing  one  of  the  calms,  for  which  that  neigh- 
borhood is  noted.  For  three  days  we  lay  almost  motionless  on  the 
glassy  water,  sometimes  surrounded  by  large  flocks  of  sea-gulls. 
The  weed  brought  by  the  gulf  stream,  floated  around — some 
branches  we  fished  up,  were  full  of  beautiful  little  shells.  Once 
a  large  scliool  of  black-fish  came  around  the  vessel,  and  the  car- 
penter climbed  down  on  the  fore-chains,  with  a  harpoon  to  strike 
one.  Scarcely  had  he  taken  his  position,  when  they  all  darted 
off  in  a  straight  line,  through  the  water,  and  were  soon  out  of 
sight.     He  said  they  smelt  the  harpoon. 

We  congratulated  ourselves  on  having  reached  the  Banks  in 
seven  days,  as  it  is  considered  the  longest  third-part  of  the  pas- 
sage. But  the  hopes  of  reaching  Liverpool  in  twenty  days,  were 
soon  overthrown.  A  succession  of  southerly  winds  drove  the 
vessel  as  far  north  aslat.  55  deg.,  without  bringing  us  much  nearer 
our  destination.  It  was  extremely  cold,  for  we  were  but  five  de- 
grees south  of  tlie  latitude  of  Greenland,  and  the  long  northern 
twilio-hts  came  on.  The  last  glow  of  the  evening  tvvilio;ht  had 
scarcely  faded,  before  the  first  glimmering  of  dawn  appeared.  I 
found  it  extremely  easy  to  read,  at  10  P.  M.,  on  the  deck. 

We  had  much  diversion  on  board  from  a  company  of  Iowa  In- 
dians, under  the  celebrated  chief  "White  Cloud,"  who  are  on  a 
visit  to  England.  They  are  truly  a  wild  enough  looking  com- 
pany, and  helped  not  a  little  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  passage. 
The  chief  was  a  very  grave  and  dignified  person,  but  some  of 
the  braves  were  merry  enough.  One  day  we  had  a  war-dance 
on  deck,  which  was  a  most  ludicrous  scene.     The  chief  and  two 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


braves  sat  upon  the  deck,  beating  violently  a  small  drum  and  howl- 
ing forth  their  war-song,  while  the  others  in  full  dress,  painted  in 
a  grotesque  style,  leaped  about,  brandishing  tomahawks  and 
spears,  and  terminating  each  dance  with  a  terrific  yell.  Some 
of  the  men  are  very  fine-looking,  but  the  squaws  are  all  ugly. 
They  occupied  part  of  the  second  cabin,  separated  only  by  a 
board  partition  from  our  room.  This  proximity  was  any  thing 
but  agreeable.  They  kept  us  awake  more  than  half  the  night, 
by  singing  and  howling  in  the  most  dolorous  manner,  with  the 
accompaniment  of  slapping  their  hands  violently  on  their  bare 
breasts.  We  tried  an  opposition,  and  a  young  German  student, 
who  was  returning  home  after  two  years'  travel  in  America, 
made  our  room  ring  with  the  chorus  from  Der  Freischutz — but 
in  vain.  They  would  howl  and  beat  their  breasts,  and  the  pap- 
poose  would  squall.  Any  loss  of  temper  is  therefore  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  when  I  state  that  I  could  scarcely  turn  in  my  berth, 
much  less  stretch  myself  out ;  my  cramped  limbs  alone  drove 
off  half  the  night's  slumber. 

It  was  a  pleasure,  at  least,  to  gaze  on  their  strong  athletic 
frames.  Their  massive  chests  and  powerful  limbs  put  to  shame 
our  dwindled  proportions.  One  old  man,  in  particular,  who 
seemed  the  patriarch  of  the  band,  used  to  stand  for  hours  on  the 
quarter  deck,  sublime  and  motionless  as  a  statue  of  Jupiter.  An 
interesting  incident  occurred  during  the  calm  of  which  I  spoke. 
They  began  to  be  fearful  we  were  doomed  to  remain  there  for- 
ever, unless  the  spirits  were  invoked  for  a  favorable  wind.  Ac- 
cordingly the  prophet  lit  his  pipe  and  smoked  with  great  delib- 
eration, muttering  all  the  while  in  a  low  voice.  Then,  having 
obtained  a  bottle  of  beer  from  the  captain,  he  poured  it  solemnly 
over  the  stern  of  the  vessel  into  the  sea.  There  were  some  indi- 
cations of  wind  at  the  time,  and  accordingly  the  next  morning 
we  had  a  fine  breeze,  which  the  lowas  attributed  solely  to  the 
Prophet's  incantation  and  Eolus'  love  of  beer. 

After  a  succession  of  calms  and  adverse  winds,  on  the  25th 
we  were  off  the  Hebrides,  and  though  not  within  sight  of  land, 
the  southern  winds  came  to  us  strongly  freighted  with  the  "  mea- 
dow freshness"  of  the  Irish  bogs,  so  we  could  at  least  smell  it. 
That  day  the  wind  became  more  favorable,  and  the  next  morning 


FIRST  SIGHT  OF  LAND 


we  were  all  roused  out  of  our  berths  by  sunrise,  at  the  long 
wished-for  cry  of  "  land  !"  Just  under  the  golden  flood  of  light 
that  streamed  through  the  morning  clouds,  lay  afar-ofF  and  indis- 
tinct the  crags  of  an  island,  with  the  top  of  a  light-house  visible 
at  one  extremity.  To  the  south  of  it,  and  barely  distinguishable, 
so  completely  was  it  blended  in  hue  with  the  veiling  cloud, 
loomed  up  a  lofty  mountain.  I  shall  never  forget  the  sight !  As 
we  drew  nearer,  the  dim  and  soft  outline  it  first  wore,  was  broken 
into  a  range  of  crags,  with  lofty  precipices  jutting  out  to  the  sea, 
and  sloping  off"  inland.  The  white  wall  of  the  light-house  shone 
in  the  morning's  light,  and  the  foam  of  the  breakers  dashed  up  at 
the  foot  of  the  airy  cliffs.  It  was  worth  all  the  troubles  of  a  long 
voyage,  to  feel  the  glorious  excitement  which  this  herald  of  new 
scenes  and  new  adventures  created.  The  light-house  was  on 
Tory  Jsland,  on  the  north-western  coast  of  Ireland.  The  Cap- 
tain decided  on  taking  the  North  Channel,  for,  although  rarely 
done,  it  was  in  our  case  nearer,  and  is  certainly  more  interesting 
than  the  usual  route. 

We  passed  the  Island  of  Ennistrahul,  near  the  entrance  of 
Londonderry  harbor,  and  at  sunset  saw  in  the  distance  the  isl- 
ands of  Islay  and  Jura,  off  the  Scottish  coast.  Next  morning  we 
were  close  to  the  promontory  of  Fairhead,  a  bold,  precipitous  head- 
land, like  some  of  the  Palisades  on  the  Hudson  ;  the  highlands  of 
the  Mull  of  Cantire  were  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Channel,  and 
the  wind  being  ahead,  we  tacked  from  shore  to  shore,  running  so 
near  the  Irish  coast,  that  we  could  see  the  little  thatched  huts, 
stacks  of  peat,  and  even  rows  of  potatoes  in  the  fields.  It  was  a 
panorama :  the  view  extended  for  miles  inland,  and  the  fields  of 
different  colored  grain  were  spread  out  before  us,  a  brilliant  mo- 
saic. Towards  evening  we  passed  Ailsa  Crag,  the  sea-bird's 
home,  within  sight,  though  about  twenty  miles  distant. 

On  Sunday,  the  28th,  we  passed  the  lofty  headland  of  the  Mull 
of  Galloway  and  entered  the  Irish  Sea.  Here  there  was  an  oc- 
currence  of  an  impressive  nature.  A  woman,  belonging  to  the 
steerage,  who  had  been  ill  the  whole  passage,  died  the  morning 
before.  She  appeared  to  be  of  a  very  avaricious  disposition, 
though  this  might  indeed  have  been  the  result  of  self-denial,  prac- 
tised through  filial  affection.     In  the  morning  she  was  speechless, 


6  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


and  while  they  were  endeavonng  to  persuade  her  to  give  up  her 
keys  to  the  captain,  died.  In  her  pocket  were  found  two  parcels, 
containing  forty  sovereigns,  sewed  up  with  the  most  miserly  care. 
It  w^as  ascertained  she  had  a  widowed  mother  in  the  north  of 
Ireland,  and  judging  her  money  could  be  better  applied  than  to 
paying  for  a  funeral  on  shore,  the  captain  gave  orders  for  com- 
mitting the  body  to  the  waves.  It  rained  drearily  as  her  corpse, 
covered  with  starred  bunting,  was  held  at  the  gangway  while  the 
captain  read  the  funeral  service  ;  then  one  plunge  was  heard,  and 
a  white  object  flashed  up  through  the  dark  waters,  as  the  ship 
passed  on. 

In  the  afternoon  we  passed  the  Isle  of  Man,  having  a  beautiful 
view  of  the  Calf,  with  a  white  stream  tumbling  down  the  rocks 
into  the  sea ;  and  at  night  saw  the  sun  set  behind  the  mountains 
of  Wales.  About  midnight,  the  pilot  came  on  boai'd,  and  soon 
after  sunrise  I  saw  the  distant  spires  of  Liverpool.  The  Welsh 
coast  was  studded  with  windmills,  all  in  motion,  and  the  harbor 
spotted  with  buoys,  bells  and  floating  lights.  How  delightful  it 
was  to  behold  the  green  trees  on  the  banks  of  the  Mersey,  and  to 
know  that  in  a  few  hours  we  should  be  on  land  !  About  11 
o'clock  we  came  to  anchor  in  the  chawnel  of  the  Mersey,  near  the 
docks,  and  after  much  noise,  bustle  and  confusion,  were  trans- 
ferred, with  our  baggage,  to  a  small  steamboat,  giving  a  parting 
cheer  to  the  lowas,  who  remained  on  board.  On  landing,  I  stood 
a  moment  to  observe  the  scene.  The  baggage-wagons,  drawn  by 
horses,  mules  and  donkeys,  were  extraordinary  ;  men  were  going 
about  crying  ^^  the  celebrated  Tralorum  gingerbread!^^  which 
they  carried  in  baskets;  and  a  boy  in  the  University  dress,  with 
long  blue  gown  and  yellow  knee-breeches,  was  running  to  the 
wharf  to  look  at  the  Indians. 

At  last  the  carts  were  all  loaded,  the  word  was  given  to  start, 
and  then,  what  a  scene  ensued  !  Away  went  the  mules,  the 
horses  and  the  donkeys  ;  away  ran  men  and  women  and  children, 
carrying  chairs  and  trunks,  and  boxes  and  bedding.  The  wind 
was  blowing,  and  the  dust  whirled  up  as  they  dashed  helter- 
skelter  through  the  gate  and  started  off*  on  a  hot  race,  down  the 
dock  to  the  depot.  Two  wagons  came  together,  one  of  which 
was  overturned,  scattering  the  broken  boxes  of  a  Scotch  family 


LANDING. 


over  the  pavement ;  but  while  the  poor  woman  was  crying  over 
her  loss,  the  tide  swept  on,  scarcely  taking  time  to  glance  at  the 
mishap. 

Our  luggage  was  "  passed"  with  little  trouble ;  the  officer 
merely  opening  the  trunks  and  pressing  his  hands  on  the  top. 
Even  some  American  reprints  of  English  works  which  my  com- 
panion carried,  and  feared  would  be  taken  from  him,  were  passed 
over  without  a  word.  I  was  agreeably  surprised  at  this,  as  from 
the  accounts  of  some  travellers,  I  had  been  led  to  fear  horrible 
things  of  custom-houses.  This  over,  we  took  a  stroll  about  the 
city.  I  was  first  struck  by  seeing  so  many  people  walking  in  the 
middle  of  the  streets,  and  so  many  gentlemen  going  about  with 
pinks  stuck  in  their  button-holes.  Then,  the  houses  being  all 
built  of  brown  granite  or  dark  brick,  gives  the  town  a  sombre 
appearance,  which  the  sunshine  (when  there  is  any)  cannot  dis- 
pel. Of  Liverpool  we  saw  little.  Before  the  twilight  had  wholly 
faded,  we  were  again  tossing  on  the  rough  waves  of  the  Irish 
Sea. 


VIEWS   A-FOOT 


CHAPTER    II. 


A    DAY    IN    IRELAND. 


On  calling  at  the  steamboat  office  in  Liverpool,  to  take  passage 
to  Port  Rush,  we  found  that  the  fare  in  the  fore  cabin  was  but  two 
shillings  and  a  half,  while  in  the  chief  cabin  it  was  six  times  as 
much.  As  I  had  started  to  make  the  tour  of  all  Europe  with  a 
sum  little  higher  than  is  sometimes  given  for  the  mere  passage  to 
and  fro,  there  was  no  alternative — the  twenty-four  hours'  discom- 
fort could  be  more  easily  endured  than  the  expense,  and  as  I 
expected  to  encounter  many  hardships,  it  was  best  to  make  a 
beginning.  I  had  crossed  the  ocean  with  tolerable  comfort  for 
twenty-four  dollars,  and  was  determined  to  try  whether  England, 
where  I  had  been  told  it  was  almost  impossible  to  breathe  without 
expense,  might  not  also  be  seen  by  one  of  limited  means. 

The  fore  cabin  was  merely  a  bare  room,  with  a  bench  along 
one  side,  which  was  occupied  by  half  a  dozen  Irishmen  in  knee- 
breeches  and  heavy  brogans.  As  we  passed  out  of  the  Clarence 
Dock  at  10  P.  M.,  I  went  below  and  managed  to  get  a  seat  on  one 
end  of  the  bench,  where  I  spent  the  night  in  sleepless  misery. 
The  Irish  bestowed  themselves  about  the  floor  as  they  best  could, 
for  there  was  no  light,  and  very  soon  the  Morphean  deepness  of 
their  breathing  gave  token  of  blissful  unconsciousness. 

The  next  morning  was  misty  and  rainy,  but  I  preferred  walk- 
ing the  deck  and  drying  myself  occasionally  beside  the  chimney, 
to  sitting  in  the  dismal  room  below.  We  passed  the  Isle  of  Man, 
and  through  the  whole  forenoon  were  tossed  about  very  disagree- 
ably in  the  North  Channel.  In  the  afternoon  we  stopped  at  Larne, 
a  little  antiquated  village,  not  far  from  Belfast,  at  the  head  of  a 
crooked  arm  of  the  sea.  There  is  an  old  ivy-grown  tower  near, 
and  high  green  mountains  rise  up  around.  After  leaving  it,  we 
had  a  beautiful  panoramic  view  of  the  northern  coast.     Many  of 


IRISH  PEASANTS. 


the  precipices  are  of  the  same  formation  as  the  Causeway  ;  Fair- 
head,  a  promontory  of  this  kind,  is  grand  in  the  extreme.  The 
perpendicular  face  of  fluted  rock  is  about  three  hundred  feet  in 
height,  and  towering  up  sublimely  from  the  water,  seemed  almost 
to  overhang  our  heads. 

My  companion  compared  it  to  Niagara  Falls  petrified  ;  and  I 
think  the  simile  very  striking.  It  is  like  a  cataract  falling  in 
huge  waves,  in  some  places  leaping  out  from  a  projecting  rock, 
in  others  descending  in  an  unbroken  sheet. 

We  passed  the  Giant's  Causeway  after  dark,  and  about  eleven 
o'clock  reached  the  harbor  of  Port  Rush,  where,  after  stumbling 
up  a  strange  old  street,  in  the  dark,  we  found  a  little  inn,  and 
soon  forgot  the  Irish  Coast  and  everything  else. 

In  the  morning  when  we  arose  it  was  raining,  with  little  pros- 
pect of  fair  weather,  but  having  expected  nothing  better,  we  set 
out  on  foot  for  the  Causeway.  The  rain,  however,  soon  came 
down  in  torrents,  and  we  were  obliged  to  take  shelter  in  a  cabin 
by  the  road-side.  The  w-hole  house  consisted  of  one  room,  with 
bare  walls  and  roof,  and  earthen  floor,  while  a  window  of  three 
or  four  panes  supplied  the  light.  A  fire  of  peat  was  burning  on 
the  hearth,  and  their  breakfast,  of  potatoes  alone,  stood  on  the 
table.  The  occupants  received  us  with  rude  but  genuine  hospi- 
tality,  giving  us  the  only  seats  in  the  room  to  sit  upon  ;  except  a 
rickety  bedstead  that  stood  in  one  corner  and  a  small  table, 
there  was  no  other  furniture  in  the  house.  The  man  appeared 
rather  intelligent,  and  although  he  complained  of  the  hardness 
of  their  lot,  had  no  sympathy  with  O'Connell  or  the  Repeal 
movement. 

We  left  this  miserable  hut,  as  soon  as  it  ceased  raining — and, 
though  there  were  many  cabins  along  the  road,  few  were  better 
than  this.  At  length,  after  passing  the  walls  of  an  old  church, 
in  the  midst  of  older  tombs,  we  saw  the  roofless  tow-ers  of  Dun- 
luce  Castle,  on  the  sea-shore.  It  stands  on  an  isolated  rock, 
rising  perpendicularly  two  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  con- 
nected >vith  the  cliffs  of  the  mainland  by  a  narrow  arch  of  ma- 
sonry. On  the  summit  of  the  cliffs  were  the  remains  of  the 
buildings  where  the  ancient  lords  kept  their  vassals.  An  old 
man,  who  takes  care  of  it  for  Lord  Antrim,  on  whose  property 

2* 


10  VIEWS  A-FCOT. 


It  is  situated,  showed  us  the  way  down  to  the  castle.  We  walked 
across  the  narrow  arch,  entered  the  ruined  hall,  and  looked  down 
on  the  roaring  sea  below.  It  still  rained,  the  wind  swept  furi- 
ously through  the  decaying  arches  of  the  banqueting  hall  and 
waved  the  long  grass  on  the  desolate  battlements.  Far  below, 
the  sea  foamed  white  on  the  breakers  and  sent  up  an  unceasing^ 
boom.  It  was  the  most  mournful  and  desolate  picture  I  evei 
beheld.  There  were  some  low  dungeons  yet  entire,  and  rudt 
stairways,  where,  by  stooping  down,  1  could  ascend  nearly  to  tlid 
top  of  one  of  the  towers,  and  look  out  on  the  wild  scenery  of 
the  coast. 

Going  back,  I  found  a  way  down  the  cliff,  to  the  mouth  of  a 
cavern  in  the  rock,  which  extends  under  the  whole  castle  to  the 
sea.  Sliding  down  a  heap  of  sand  and  stones,  I  stood  under  an 
arch  eighty  feet  high  ;  in  front  the  breakers  dashed  into  the  en- 
trance, flinging  the  spray  half-way  to  the  roof,  while  the  sound 
rang  up  through  the  arches  like  thunder.  It  seemed  to  me  the 
haunt  of  the  old  Norsemen's  sea-gods  ! 

We  left  the  road  near  Dunluce  and  walked  along  the  smooth 
beach  to  the  cliffs  that  surround  the  Causeway.  Here  we  ob- 
tained a  guide,  and  descended  to  one  of  the  caves  which  can  be 
entered  from  the  shore.  Opposite  the  entrance  a  bare  rock  called 
Sea  Gull  Isle,  rises  out  of  the  sea  like  a  church  steeple.  The  roof 
at  first  was  low,  but  we  shortly  came  to  a  branch  that  opened  on 
the  sea,  where  the  arch  was  forty-six  feet  in  height.  The  break- 
ers dashed  far  into  the  cave,  and  flocks  of  sea-birds  circled  round 
its  mouth.  The  sound  of  a  gun  was  like  a  deafening  peal 
of  thunder,  crashing  from  arch  to  arch  till  it  rolled  out  of  the 
cavern. 

On  the  top  of  the  hill  a  splendid  hotel  is  erected  for  visitors 
to  the  Causeway  ;  after  passing  this  we  descended  to  the  base  of 
the  cliffs,  which  are  here  upwards  of  four  hundred  feet  high,  and 
soon  began  to  find,  in  the  columnar  formation  of  the  rocks,  indi- 
cations of  our  approach.  The  guide  pointed  out  some  columns 
which  appeared  to  have  been  melted  and  run  together,  from 
which  Sir  Humphrey  Davy  attributed  the  formation  of  the  Cause- 
way to  the  action  of  tire.  Near  this  is  the  Giant's  Well,  a  spring 
of  the  purest  water,  the  bottom  formed  by  three  perfect  hexa- 


THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY.  U 

gons,  and  tne  sides  of  regular  columns.  One  of  us  observing 
that  no  giant  had  ever  drunk  from  it,  the  old  man  answered — 
"  Perhaps  not :  but  it  was  made  by  a  giant — God  Almighty  !'' 

From  the  well,  the  Causeway  commences — a  mass  of  columns, 
from  triangular  to  octagonal,  lying  in  compact  forms,  and  extend- 
ing into  the  sea.  I  was  somewhat  disappointed  at  first,  having 
supposed  the  Causeway  to  be  of  great  height,  but  I  found  the 
Giant's  Loom,  which  is  the  highest  part  of  it,  to  be  but  about 
fifty  feet  from  the  water.  The  singular  appearance  of  the 
columns  and  the  many  strange  forms  which  they  assume,  ren- 
der it  nevertheless,  an  object  of  the  greatest  interest.  Walking 
out  on  the  rocks  we  came  to  the  Ladies'  Chair,  the  seat,  back, 
sides  and  footstool,  being  all  regularly  formed  by  the  broken 
columns.  The  guide  said  that  any  lady  who  would  take  three 
drinks  from  the  Giant's  Well,  then  sit  in  this  chair  and  think 
of  any  gentleman  for  whom  she  had  a  preference,  would  be  mar- 
ried before  a  twelvemonth.  I  asked  him  if  it  would  answer  as 
well  x'br  gentlemen,  for  by  a  wonderful  coincidence  we  had  each 
drank  three  times  at  the  well  !  He  said  it  wouW,  and  thought 
he  was  confirming  his  statement. 

A  cluster  of  columns  about  half-way  up  the  cliff  is  called  the 
Giant's  Organ — from  its  very  striking  resemblance  to  that  instru- 
ment, and  a  single  rock,  worn  by  the  waves  into  the  shape  of  a 
rude  seat,  is  his  chair.  A  mile  or  two  further  along  the  coast, 
two  cliffs  project  from  the  range,  leaving  a  vast  semicircular 
space  between,  Avhich,  from  its  resemblance  to  the  old  Roman 
theatres,  was  appropriated  for  that  purpose  by  the  Giant.  Half- 
way down  the  crags  are  two  or  three  pinnacles  of  rock,  called 
the  Chimneys,  and  the  stumps  of  several  others  can  be  seen, 
which,  it  is  said,  were  shot  off  by  a  vessel  belonging  to  the  Span- 
ish Armada,  in  mistake  for  the  towers  of  Dunluce  Castle.  The 
vessel  was  afterwards  wrecked  in  the  bay  below,  which  has  ever 
since  been  called  Spanish  Bay.  and  in  calm  weather  the  wreck 
may  be  still  seen.  Many  of  the  columns  of  the  Caiiseway  have 
been  carried  ofT  and  sold  as  pillars  for  mantels — and  though  a 
notice  is  put  up  threatening  any  one  with  the  ^igor  of  the  law, 
depredations  are  occasionally  made. 

Returning,  we  left  the  road  at  Dunluce,  and  took  a  path  which 


12  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


led  along  the  summit  of  the  cliffs.  The  twilight  was  gathering, 
and  the  wind  blew  with  perfect  fury,  which,  combined  with  the 
black  and  stormy  sky,  gave  the  coast  an  air  of  extreme  wildness. 
All  at  once,  as  we  followed  the  winding  path,  the  crags  appeared 
to  open  before  us,  disclosing  a  yawning  chasm,  down  which  a 
large  stream,  falling  in  an  unbroken  sheet,  was  lost  in  the  gloom 
below.  Witnessed  in  a  calm  day,  there  may  perhaps  be  nothing 
striking  about  it,  but  coming  upon  us  at  once,  through  the  gloom 
of  twilight,  with  the  sea  thundering  below  and  a  scowling  sky 
above,  it  was  absolutely  startling. 

The  path  at  last  wound,  with  many  a  steep  and  slippery  bend, 
down  the  almost  perpendicular  crags,  to  the  shore,  at  the  foot  of 
a  giant  isolated  rock,  having  a  natural  arch  through  it,  eighty 
feet  in  height.  We  followed  the  narrow  strip  of  beach,  having 
the  bare  crags  on  one  side  and  a  line  of  foaming  breakers  on  the 
other.  It  soon  grew  dark  ;  a  furious  storm  came  up  and  swept 
like  a  hurricane  along  the  shore.  I  then  understood  what  Home 
means  by  "  the  lengthening  javelins  of  the  blast,"  for  every  drop 
seemed  to  strike  with  the  force  of  an  arrow,  and  our  clothes  were 
soon  pierced  in  every  part. 

Then  we  went  up  among  the  sand  hills,  and  lost  each  other  in 
the  darkness,  when,  after  stumbling  about  among  the  gullies  for 
half  an  hour,  shouting  for  my  companions,  I  found  the  road  and 
heard  my  call  answered  ;  but  it  happened  to  be  two  Irishmen,  who 
came  up  and  said — "  And  is  it  another  gintleman  ye're  callin' 
for  ?  we  heard  some  one  cryin',  and  didn't  knov/  but  somebody 
might  be  kilt." 

Finally,  about  eleven  o'clock  we  all  arrived  at  the  inn,  drip- 
ping with  rain,  and  before  a  warm  fire  concluded  the  adventures 
of  our  day  in  Ireland. 


A  DECK  PASSAGE.  13 


CHAPTER    III. 

BEN    LOBIOND    AND    THE    HIGHLAND    LAKES. 

The  steamboat  Londonderry  called  the  next  day  at  Port  Rush, 
and  we  left  in  her  for  Greenock.  We  ran  down  the  Irish  coast, 
past  Dunluce  Casde  and  the  Causeway  ;  the  Giant's  organ  was 
very  plainly  visible,  and  the  winds  were  strong  enough  to  have 
sounded  a  storm-song  upon  it.  Farther  on  we  had  a  distant  view 
of  Carrick-a-Rede,  a  precipitous  rock,  separated  by  a  yawning 
chasm  from  the  shore,  frequented  by  the  catchers  of  sea-birds. 
A  narrow  swinging  bridge,  which  is  only  passable  in  calm  wea- 
ther, crosses  this  chasm,  200  feet  above  the  water. 

The  deck  of  the  steamer  was  crowded  with  Irish,  and  certainly 
gave  no  very  favorable  impression  of  the  condition  of  the  peas- 
antry of  Ireland.  On  many  of  their  countenances  there  was 
scarcely  a  mark  of  intelligence — they  were  a  most  brutalized 
and  degraded  company  of  beings.  Many  of  them  were  in  a 
beastly  state  of  intoxication,  which,  from  the  contents  of  some  of 
their  pockets,  was  not  likely  to  decrease.  As  evening  drew  on, 
two  or  three  began  singing  and  the  others  collected  in  groups 
around  them.  One  of  them  who  sang  with  great  spirit,  was 
loudly  applauded,  and  poured  forth  song  after  song,  of  the  most 
rude  and  unrefined  character. 

We  took  a  deck  passage  for  three  shillings,  in  preference  to 
paying  twenty  for  the  cabin,  and  having  secured  a  vacant  place 
near  the  chimney,  kept  it  during  the  whole  passage.  The  waves 
were  as  rough  in  the  Channel  as  I  ever  saw  them  in  the  Atlantic, 
and  our  boat  was  tossed  about  like  a  plaything.  By  keeping  still 
we  escaped  sickness,  but  we  could  not  avoid  the  sight  of  the  mis- 
erable beings  who  filled  the  deck.  Many  of  them  spoke  in  the 
Irish  tongue,  and  our  German  friend  (the  student  whom  I  have 
already  mentioned)  noticed  in  many  of  the  words  a  resemblance 


14  VIEWS  A-FOgT. 


to  his  motlier  tongue.  1  procured  a  bowl  of  soup  from  the  stew- 
ard, but  as  I  was  not  able  to  eat  it,  I  gave  it  to  an  old  nnan  whose 
hungry  look  and  wistful  eyes  convinced  me  it  would  not  be  lost 
on  him.  He  swallowed  it  with  ravenous  avidity,  together  with  a 
crust  of  bread,  which  was  all  I  had  to  give  him,  and  seemed  for 
the  time  as  happy  and  cheerful  as  if  all  his  earthly  wants  were 
satisfied. 

We  passed  by  the  foot  of  Goat  Fell,  a  lofty  mountain  on  the 
island  of  Arran,  and  sped  on  through  the  darkness  past  the  hills 
of  Bute,  till  we  entered  the  Clyde.  We  arrived  at  Greenock  at 
one  o'clock  at  night,  and  walking  at  random  through  its  silent 
streets,  met  a  policeman,  whom  we  asked  to  show  us  where  we 
might  find  lodgings.  He  took  m}'-  cousin  and  myself  to  the 
house  of  a  poor  widow,  who  had  a  spare  bed  which  she  let  to 
strangers,  and  then  conducted  our  comrade  and  the.  German  to 
another  lodging-place. 

An  Irish  strolling  musician,  who  was  on  board  the  Dumbarton 
boat,  commenced  playing  soon  after  we  left  Greenock,  and,  to  my 
surprise,  struck  at  once  into  "  Hail  Columbia."  Then  he  gave 
"  the  Exile  of  Erin,"  with  the  most  touching  sweetness  ;  and  I 
noticed  that  always  after  playing  any  air  that  was  desired  of  him, 
he  would  invariably  return  to  the  sad  lament,  which  I  never 
heard  executed  with  more  feeling.  It  might  have  been  the  mild, 
soft  air  of  the  morning,  or  some  peculiar  mood  of  mind  that  in- 
fluenced me,  but  I  have  been  far  less  affected  by  music  which 
would  be  considered  immeasurably  superior  to  his.  1  had  been 
thinking  of  America,  and  going  up  to  the  old  man,  I  quietly  bade 
him  play  "  Home."  It  thrilled  with  a  painful  delight  that  almost 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes.  My  companion  started  as  the  sweet 
melody  arose,  and  turned  towards  me,  his  face  kindling  with 
emotion. 

Dumbarton  Rock  rose  higher  and  higher  as  we  went  up  the 
Clyde,  and  before  we  arrived  at  the  town  I  hailed  the  dim  out- 
line of  Ben  Lomond,  rising  far  off  among  the  highlands.  The 
town  is  at  the  head  of  a  small  inlet,  a  short  distance  from  the 
rock,  which  was  once  surrounded  by  water.  We  went  immedi- 
ately to  the  Castle.  The  rock  is  nearly  500  feet  high,  and  from 
its  position  and  great  strength  as  a  fortress,  has  been  called  the 


LEVEN  VALE.  15 


Gibraltar  of  Scotland.  The  top  is  surrounded  with  battlements, 
and  the  armory  and  barracks  stand  in  a  cleft  between  the  two 
j)eaks.  We  passed  down  a  green  lane,  around  the  rock,  and  en- 
tered the  castle  on  the  south  side.  A  soldier  conducted  us  through 
a  narrow  cleft,  overhung  with  crags,  to  the  summit.  Here,  from 
the  remains  of  a  round  building,  called  Wallace's  Tower,  from 
its  having  been  used  as  a  look-out  station  by  that  chieftain,  we 
had  a  beautiful  view  of  the  whole  of  Leven  Vale  to  Loch  Lo- 
mond, Ben  Lomond  and  the  Highlands,  and  on  the  other  hand, 
the  Clyde  and  the  Isle  of  Bute.  In  the  soft  and  still  balminess 
of  the  morning,  it  was  a  lovely  picture.  In  the  armory,  I  lifted 
the  sword  of  Wallace,  a  two-handed  weapon,  five  feet  in  length. 
We  were  also  shown  a  Lochaber  battle-axe,  from  Bannockburn, 
and  several  ancient  claymores. 

We  lingered  long  upon  the  summit  before  we  forsook  the  stern 
fortress  for  the  sweet  vale  spread  out  before  us.  It  was  indeed  a 
glorious  walk,  from  Dumbarton  to  Loch  Lomond,  through  this 
enchanting  valley.  The  air  was  mild  and  clear  ;  a  few  light 
clouds  occasionally  crossing  the  sun,  chequered  the  hills  with 
sun  and  shade.  I  have  as  yet  seen  nothing  that  in  pastoral  beau- 
ty can  compare  with  its  glassy  winding  stream,  its  mossy  old 
woods,  and  guarding  hills — and  the  ivy-grown,  castellated  towers 
embosomed  in  its  forests,  or  standing  on  ihe  banks  of  the  Leven 
— the  purest  of  rivers.  At  a  little  village  called  Renton,  is  a 
monument  to  Smollett,  but  the  inhabitants  seem  to  neglect  his 
memory,  as  one  of  the  tablets  on  the  pedestal  is  broken  and  half 
fallen  away.  Further  up  the  vale  a  farmer  showed  us  an  old 
mansion  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  trees  on  1  ne  bank  of  the  Leven, 
which  he  said  belonged  to  Smollett — or  Roderick  Random,  as  he 
called  him.  Two  or  three  old  pear  trees  were  still  standing 
where  the  garden  had  formerly  been,  under  which  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  play  in  his  childhood. 

At  the  head  of  Leven  Vale,  we  set  off  in  the  steamer  "  Water 
Witch"  over  the  crystal  waters  of  Loch  Lomond,  passing  Inch 
Murrin,  the  deer-park  of  the  Duke  of  Montrose,  and  Inch  CaiU 
lach, 

"  where  gray  pines  wave 

Their  shadows  o'er  Clan  Alpine's  grave." 


16  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Under  the  clear  sky  and  golden  light  of  the  declining  sun,  we 
entered  the  Highlands,  and  heard  on  every  side  names  we  had 
learned  long  ago  in  the  lays  of  Scott.  Here  were  Glen  Fruin 
and  Bannochar,  Ross  Dhu  and  the  pass  of  Beal-ma-na.  Further 
still,  we  passed  Rob  Roy's  rock,  where  the  lake  is  locked  in  by 
lofty  mountains.  The  cone-like  peak  of  Ben  Lomond  rises  far 
above  on  the  right,  Ben  Voirlich  stands  in  front,  and  the  jagged 
crest  of  Ben  Arthur  looks  over  the  shoulders  of  the  western  hills. 
A  Scotchman  on  board  pointed  out  to  us  the  remarkable  places, 
and  related  many  interesting  legends.  Above  Inversnaid,  where 
there  is  a  beautiful  waterfall,  leaping  over  the  rock  and  glancing 
out  from  the  overhanging  birches,  we  passed  McFarland's  Island, 
concerning  the  origin  of  which  name,  he  gave  a  history.  A 
nephew  of  one  of  the  old  Earls  of  Lennox,  the  ruins  of  whose 
castle  we  saw  on  Inch  Murrin,  having  murdered  his  uncle's  cook 
in  a  quarrel,  was  obliged  to  flee  for  his  life.  Returning  after 
many  years,  he  built  a  castle  upon  this  island,  which  was  always 
after  named,  on  account  of  his  exile,  Far-land.  On  a  precipitous 
point  above  Inversnaid,  are  two  caves  in  the  rock ;  one  near  the 
water  is  called  Rob  Roy's,  though  the  guides  generally  call  it 
Bruce's  also,  to  avoid  trouble,  as  the  real  Bruce's  Cave  is  high  up 
the  hill.  It  is  so  called,  because  Bruce  hid  there  one  night,  from 
the  pursuit  of  his  enemies.  It  is  related  that  a  mountain  goat, 
who  used  this  probably  for  a  sleeping  place,  entered,  trod  on  his 
mantle,  and  aroused  him.  Thinking  his  enemies  were  upon  him, 
he  sprang  up,  and  saw  the  silly  animal  before  him.  In  token  of 
gratitude  for  this  agreeable  surprise,  when  he  became  king,  a  law 
was  passed,  declaring  goats  free  throughout  all  Scotland — unpun- 
ishable for  whatever  trespass  they  might  commit,  and  the  legend 
further  says,  that  not  having  been  repealed,  it  continues  in  force 
at  the  present  day. 

On  the  opposite  shore  of  the  lake  is  a  large  rock,  called  "  Bull's 
Rock,"  having  a  door  in  the  side,  with  a  stairway  cut  through 
the  interior  to  a  pulpit  on  the  top,  from  which  the  pastor  at  Arro- 
quhar  preaches  a  monthly  discourse.  The  Gaelic  legend  of  the 
rock  is,  that  it  once  stood  near  the  summit  of  the  mountain  above, 
and  was  very  nearly  balanced  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  Two 
wild  bulls,  fighting  violently,  dashed  with  great  force  against  the 


ASCENT  OF  BEN  LOMOND.  17 


rock,  which,  being  thrown  from  its  balance,  was  tumbled  down 
the  side  of  the  mountain,  till  it  reached  its  present  position.  The 
Scot  was  speaking  with  great  bitterness  of  the  betrayal  of  Wal- 
lace, when  I  asked  him  if  it  was  still  considered  an  insult  to  turn 
a  loaf  of  bread  bottom  upwards  in  the  presence  of  a  Montieth. 
"  Indeed  it  is,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  have  often  done  it  myself." 

Until  last  May,  travellers  were  taken  no  higher  up  the  lake 
than  Rob  Roy's  Cave,  but  another  boat  having  commenced  run- 
ning, they  can  now  go  beyond  Loch  Lomond,  two  miles  up  Glen 
Falloch,  to  the  Inn  of  Inverarnan,  thereby  visiting  some  of  the 
finest  scenery  in  that  part  of  the  Highlands.  It  was  ludicrous, 
however,  to  see  the  steamboat  on  a  river  scarcely  wider  than 
herself,  in  a  little  valley,  hemmed  in  completely  with  lofty  moun- 
tains. She  went  on,  however,  pushing  aside  the  thickets  which 
lined  both  banks,  and  I  almost  began  to  think  she  was  going  to 
take  the  shore  for  it,  when  we  came  to  a  place  widened  out  for 
her  to  be  turned  around  in ;  here  we  jumped  ashore  in  a  green 
meadow,  on  which  the  cool  mist  was  beginning  to  descend. 

When  we  arose  in  the  morning,  at  4  o'clock,  to  return  with  the 
boat,  the  sun  was  already  shining  upon  the  westward  hills,  scarce- 
ly a  cloud  was  in  the  sky,  and  the  air  was  pure  and  cool.  To 
our  great  delight  Ben  Lomond  was  unshrouded,  and  we  were  told 
that  a  more  favorable  day  for  the  ascent  had  not  occurred  for  two 
months.  We  left  the  boat  at  Rowardennan,  an  inn  at  the  south- 
ern base  of  Ben  Lomond.  After  breakfasting  on  Loch  Lomond 
trout,  I  stole  out  to  the  shore  while  my  companions  were  pre- 
paring for  the  ascent,  and  made  a  hasty  sketch  of  the  lake. 

We  purposed  descending  on  the  northern  side  and  crossing  the 
Highlands  to  Loch  Katrine  ;  though  it  was  represented  as  diffi- 
cult and  dangerous  by  the  guide  who  wished  to  accompany  us, 
we  determined  to  run  the  risk  of  being  enveloped  in  a  cloud  on 
the  summit,  and  so  set  out  alone,  the  path  appearing  plain  before 
us.  We  had  no  difficulty  in  following  it  up  the  lesser  heights, 
around  the  base.  It  wound  on,  over  rock  and  bog,  amonff  the 
heather  and  broom  with  which  the  mountain  is  covered,  some- 
times running  up  a  steep  acclivity,  and  then  winding  zigzag 
round  a  rocky  ascent.  The  rains  two  days  before,  had  made  the 
bogs  damp  and  muddy,  but  with  this  exception,  we  had  little  trou- 


18  VIEWS  A. FOOT 


ble  tor  some  time.  Ben  Lomond  is  a  doubly  formed  mountain. 
For  about  three-fourths  of  the  way  there  is  a  continued  ascent, 
when  it  is  suddenly  terminated  by  a  large  barren  plain,  from  one 
end  of  which  the  summit  shoots  up  abruptly,  forming  at  the  north 
side,  a  precipice  500  feet  high.  As  we  approached  the  summit 
of  the  first  part  of  the  mountain,  the  way  became  very  steep  and 
toilsome  ;  but  the  prospect,  which  had  before  been  only  on  the 
south  side,  began  to  open  on  the  east,  and  we  saw  suddenly 
spread  out  below  us,  the  vale  of  Menteith,  with  "  far  Loch  Ard 
and  Aberfoil"  in  the  centre,  and  the  huge  front  of  Benvenue 
filling  up  the  picture.  Taking  courage  from  this,  we  hurried  on. 
The  heather  had  become  stunted  and  dwarfish,  and  the  ground 
was  covered  with  short  brown  grass.  The  mountain  sheep, 
which  we  saw  looking  at  us  from  the  rock  above,  had  worn  so 
many  paths  along  the  side,  that  we  could  not  tell  which  to  take, 
but  pushed  on  in  the  direction  of  the  summit,  till  thinking  it  must 
be  near  at  hand,  we  found  a  mile  and  a  half  of  plain  befoie  us, 
with  the  top  of  Ben  Lomond  at  the  farther  end.  The  plain  was 
full  of  wet  moss,  crossed  in  all  directions  by  deep  ravines  or  gul- 
lies worn  in  it  by  the  mountain  rains,  and  the  wind  swept  across 
with  a  tempest-like  force. 

I  met,  near  the  base,  a  young  gentleman  from  Edinburgh,  who 
had  left  Rowardennan  before  us,  and  we  commenced  ascending 
together.  It  was  hard  work,  but  neither  liked  to  stop,  so  we 
climbed  up  to  the  first  resting  place,  and  found  the  path  leading 
along  the  brink  of  a  precipice.  We  soon  attained  the  summit, 
and  climbing  up  a  little  mound  of  earth  and  stones,  I  saw  the 
half  of  Scotland  at  a  glance.  The  clouds  hung  just  above  the 
mountain  tops,  which  rose  all  around  like  the  waves  of  a  mighty 
sea.  On  every  side — near  and  far — stood  their  misty  summits, 
but  Ben  Lomond  was  the  monarch  of  them  all.  Loch  Lomond 
lay  unrolled  under  my  feet  like  a  beautiful  map,  and  just  oppo- 
site, Loch  Long  thrust  its  head  from  between  the  feet  of  the 
crowded  hills,  to  catch  a  glimpse  cf  the  giant.  We  could  see 
from  Ben  Nevis  to  Ayr — from  Edinburgh  to  StaflTa.  Stirling  and 
Edinburgh  Castles  would  have  been  visible,  but  that  the  clouds 
hung  low  in  the  valley  of  the  Forth  and  hid  them  from  our  sight. 

The  view  from  Ben  Lomond  is  nearly  twice  as  extensive  as 


SCENERY  OF   THE  HIGHLANDS.  19 

zhat  from  Catskill,  being  uninterrupted  on  every  side,  but  it  wants 
the  glorious  forest  scenery,  clear,  blue  sky,  and  active,  rejoicing 
character  of  the  latter.  We  stayed  about  two  hours  upon  the 
summit,  taking  refuge  behind  the  cairn,  when  the  wind  blew 
strong.  I  found  the  smallest  of  flowers  under  a  rock,  and  brought 
it  away  as  a  memento.  In  the  middle  of  the  precipice  there  is  a 
narrow  ravine  or  rather  cleft  in  the  rock,  to  the  bottom,  from 
whence  the  mountain  slopes  regularly  but  steeply  down  to  the 
valley.  At  the  bottom  we  stopped  to  awake  the  echoes,  which 
were  repeated  four  times ;  our  German  companion  sang  the 
Hunter's  Chorus,  which  resounded  magnificently  through  this 
Highland  hall.  We  drank  from  the  river  Forth,  which  starts 
from  a  spring  at  the  foot  of  the  rock,  and  then  commenced  de- 
scending. This  was  also  toilsome  enough.  The  mountain  was 
quite  wet  and  covered  with  loose  stones,  which,  dislodged  by  our 
feet,  went  rattling  down  the  side,  oftentimes  to  the  danger  of  the 
foremost  ones  ;  and  when  we  had  run  or  rather  slid  down  the 
three  miles,  to  the  bottom,  our  knees  trembled  so  as  scarcely  to 
support  us. 

Here,  at  a  cottage  on  the  farm  of  Coman,  we  procured  some 
oat  cakes  and  milk  for  dinner,  from  an  old  Scotch  woman,  who 
pointed  out  the  direction  of  Loch  Katrine,  six  miles  distant;  there 
was  no  road,  nor  indeed  a  solitary  dwelling  between.  The  hills 
were  bare  of  trees,  covered  with  scraggy  bushes  and  rough  heath, 
which  in  some  places  was  so  thick  we  could  scarcely  drag  our 
feet  through.  Added  to  this,  the  ground  was  covered  with  a  kind 
of  moss  that  retained  the  moisture  like  a  sponge,  so  that  our  boots 
ere  long  became  thoroughly  soaked.  Several  considerable 
streams  were  rushing  down  the  side,  and  many  of  the  wild  breed 
of  black  Highland  cattle  were  grazing  around.  After  climbing 
up  and  down  one  or  two  heights,  occasionally  startling  the  moor- 
cock and  ptarmigan  from  their  heathery  coverts,  we  saw  the  val- 
ley of  Loch  Con  ;  while  in  the  middle  of  the  plain  on  the  top  of 
the  mountain  we  had  ascended,  was  a  sheet  of  water  which  we 
took  to  be  Loch  Ackill.  Two  or  three  wild  fov/1  swimmino;  on 
its  surface  were  the  only  living  things  in  sight.  The  peaks 
around  shut  it  out  from  all  view  of  the  world  ;  a  single  decayed 
tree  leaned  over  it  from  a  mossy  rock,  which  gave  the  whole 


20  VIEWS  A-FOOT 


scene  an  air  of  the  most  desolate  wildness.  I  forget  the  name  of 
the  lake  ;  but  we  learned  afterwards  that  the  Highlanders  con- 
sider it  the  abode  of  the  fairies,  or  "  men  of  peace,"  and  that  it  is 
still  superstitiously  shunned  by  them  after  nightfall. 

From  the  next  mountain  we  saw  Loch  Ackill  and  Loch  Katrine 
below,  but  a  wet  and  weary  descent  had  yet  to  be  made.  I  was 
about  throwing  off  my  knapsack  on  a  rock,  to  take  a  sketch  of 
Loch  Katrine,  which  appeared  very  beautiful  from  this  point, 
when  we  discerned  a  cavalcade  of  ponies  winding  along  the  path 
from  Inversnaid,  to  the  head  of  the  lake,  and  hastened  down  to 
take  the  boat  when  they  should  arrive.  Our  haste  turned  out  to 
be  unnecessary,  however,  foi  they  had  to  wait  for  their  luggage, 
which  was  long  in  coming.  Two  boatmen  then  offered  to  take 
us  for  two  shillings  and  sixpence  each,  with  the  privilege  of  stop- 
ping at  Ellen's  Isle;  the  regular  fare  being  two  shillings.  We 
got  in,  when,  after  exchanging  a  few  words  in  Gaelic,  one  of  them 
called  to  the  travellers,  of  whom  there  were  a  number,  to  come 
and  take  passage  at  two  shillings — then  at  one  and  sixpence,  and 
finally  concluded  by  requesting  them  all  to  step  on  board  the 
shilling  boat!  At  length,  having  secured  nine  at  this  reduced 
price,  we  pushed  off;  one  of  the  passengers  took  the  helm,  and 
the  boat  glided  merrily  over  the  clear  water. 

It  appears  there  is  some  opposition  among  the  boatmen  this 
summer,  which  is  all  the  better  for  travelers.  They  are  a  bold 
race,  and  still  preserve  many  of  the  characteristics  of  the  clan 
from  which  they  sprung.  One  of  ours,  who  had  a  chieftain-like 
look,  was  a  MacGregor,  related  to  Rob  Roy.  The  fourth  descend- 
ant in  a  direct  line,  now  inhabits  the  Rob  Roy  mansion,  at  Glen- 
gyle,  a  valley  at  the  head  of  the  lake.  A  small  steamboat  was 
put  upon  Loch  Katrine  a  short  time  ago,  but  the  boatmen,  jealous 
of  this  new  invasion  of  their  privilege,  one  night  towed  her  out  to 
the  middle  of  the  lake  and  there  sunk  her. 

Near  the  point  of  Brianchoil  is  a  very  small  island  with  a  few 
trees  upon  it,  of  which  the  boatman  related  a  story  that  was  new 
to  me.  He  said  an  eccentric  individual,  many  years  ago,  built 
his  house  upon  it — but  it  was  soon  beaten  down  by  the  winds  and 
waves.  Having  built  it  up  with  like  fortune  several  times,  he  at 
last  desisted,  saying,  "  bought  wisdom  was  the  best  j"  smce  when 


LOCH  KATRINE.  21 


it  has  been  called  the  Island  of  Wisdom.  On  the  shore  below, 
the  boatman  showed  us  his  cottage.  The  whole  family  were  out 
at  the  door  to  witness  our  progress  ;  he  hoisted  a  flag,  and  when 
we  came  opposite,  they  exchanged  shouts  in  Gaelic.  As  our  men 
resumed  their  oars  again,  we  assisted  in  giving  three  cheers, 
which  made  the  echoes  of  Benvenue  ring  again.  Some  one  ob- 
served his  dog,  looking  after  us  from  a  projecting  rock,  when  he 
called  out  to  him,  "  go  home,  you  brute  !"  We  asked  him  w;hy 
he  did  not  speak  Gaelic  also  to  his  dog. 

"  Very  few  dogs,  indeed,"  said  he,  "  understand  Gaelic,  but 
they  all  understand  English.  And  we  therefore  all  use  English 
when  speaking  to  our  dogs ;  indeed,  I  know  some  persons,  who 
know  nothing  of  English,  that  speak  it  to  their  dogs  ! " 

They  then  sang,  in  a  rude  manner,  a  Gaelic  song.  The  only 
word  I  could  distinguish  was  Inch  Caillach,  the  burying  place  of 
Clan  Alpine.  They  told  us  it  was  the  answer  of  a  Highland  girl 
to  a  foreign  lord,  who  wished  to  make  her  his  bride.  Perhaps, 
like  the  American  Indian,  she  would  not  leave  the  graves  of  her 
fathers.  As  we  drew  near  the  eastern  end  of  the  lake,  the  scen- 
ery became  far  more  beautiful.  The  Trosachs  opened  before  us. 
Ben  Ledi  looked  down  over  the  "  forehead  bare  "  of  Ben  An,  and, 
as  we  turned  a  rocky  point,  Ellen's  Isle  rose  up  in  front.  It  is  a 
beautiful  little  turquoise  in  the  silver  setting  of  Loch  Katrine. 
The  northern  side  alone  is  accessible,  all  the  others  being  rocky 
and  perpendicular,  and  thickly  grown  with  trees.  We  rounded 
the  island  to  the  little  bay,  bordered  by  the  silver  strand,  above 
which  is  the  rock  from  which  Fitz-James  wound  his  horn,  and 
shot  under  an  ancient  oak  which  flung  its  long  grey  arms  over 
the  water;  we  here  found  a  flight  of  rocky  steps,  leading  to  the 
top,  where  stood  the  bower  erected  by  Lady  Willoughby  D'Eres- 
by,  to  correspond  with  Scott's  description.  Two  or  three  black- 
ened  beams  are  all  that  remain  of  it,  having  been  burned  down 
some  years  ago,  by  the  carelessness  of  a  traveler. 

The  mountains  stand  all  around,  like  giants,  to  "  sentinel  this 
enchanted  land."  On  leaving  the  island,  we  saw  the  Goblin's 
Cave,  in  the  side  of  Benvenue,  called  by  the  Gaels,  "Coirnan- 
Uriskin."  Near  it  is  Beal-nam-bo,  the  pass  of  cattle,  overhung 
with  grey  weeping  birch  trees. 


!22  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Here  the  boatmen  stopped  to  let  us  hear  the  fine  echo,  and  the 
names  of  "  Rob  Roy,"  and  "  Roderick  Dhu,"  were  sent  back  to 
us  apparently  as  loud  as  they  were  given.  The  description  of 
Scott  is  wonderfully  exact,  though  the  forest  that  feathered  o'er 
the  sides  of  Benvenue,  has  since  been  cut  down  and  sold  by  the 
Duke  of  Montrose.  When  we  reached  the  end  of  the  lake  it 
commenced  raining,  and  we  hastened  on  through  the  pass  of 
Beal-an-Duine,  scarcely  taking  time  to  glance  at  the  scenery,  till 
Loch  Achray  appeared  through  the  trees,  and  on  its  banks  the 
ivy-grown  front  of  the  inn  of  Ardcheancrochan.  with  its  unpro- 
nounceable name. 


THE  BURNS  FESTIVAL.  23 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE    BURNS    FESTIVAL. 


We  passed  a  glorious  summer  morning  on  the  banks  of  Loch 
Katrine.  The  air  was  pure,  fresh  and  balmy,  and  the  warm 
sunshine  glowed  upon  forest  and  lake,  upon  dark  crag  and  pur- 
ple mountain-top.  The  lake  was  a  scene  in  fairy-land.  Return- 
ing over  the  rugged  battle-plain  in  the  jaws  of  the  Trosachs,  we 
passed  the  wild,  lonely  valley  of  Glenfinlas  and  Lanric  Mead, 
at  the  head  of  Loch  Vennachar,  rounding  the  foot  of  Ben  Ledi  to 
Coilantogle  Ford.  We  saw  the  desolate  hills  of  Uam-var  over 
which  the  stag  fled  from  his  lair  in  Glenartney,  and  keeping  on 
through  Callander,  stopped  for  the  night  at  a  little  inn  on  the  banks 
of  the  Teith.  The  next  day  we  walked  through  Doune,  over  the 
lowlands  to  Stirling.  Crossing  Allan  Water  and  the  Forth,  we 
climbed  Stirling  Castle  and  looked  on  the  purple  peaks  of  the 
Ochill  Mountains,  the  far  Grampians,  and  the  battle-fields  of  Ban- 
nockburn  and  Sheriff  Muir.  Our  German  comrade,  feeling  little 
interest  in  the  memory  of  the  poet-ploughman,  left  in  the  steam- 
boat for  Edinburg ;  we  mounted  an  English  coach  and  rode  to 
Falkirk,  where  we  took  the  cars  for  Glasgow  in  order  to  attend 
the  Burns  Festival,  on  the  6th  of  August. 

This  was  a  great  day  for  Scotland — the  assembling  of  all 
classes  to  do  honor  to  the  memory  of  her  peasant-bard.  And 
rio-ht  fitting  was  it,  too,  that  such  a  meetinor  should  be  held  on 
the  banks  of  the  Doon,  the  stream  of  which  he  has  suncr  so 
sweetly,  within  sight  of  the  cot  where  he  was  born,  the  beautiful 
monument  erected  by  his  countrymen,  and  more  than  all,  beside 
"  AUoway's  witch-haunted  wall !"  One  would  think  old  Albyn 
would  rise  up  at  the  call,  and  that  from  the  wild  hunters  of  the 
northern  hills  to  the  shepherds  of  the  Cheviots,  half  her  honest 
yeomanry  would  be  there,  to  render  gratitude  to  the  memory  of 


24  VIEV.^S    A-FOOT. 


the  sweet  bard  who  was  one  of  them,  and  who  gave  their  wants 
and  their  woes  such  eloquent  utterance. 

For  months  before  had  the  proposition  been  made  to  hold  a 
meeting  on  the  Doon,  similar  to  the  Shakspeare  Festival  on  the 
Avon,  and  the  10th  of  July  was  first  appointed  for  the  day,  but 
owing  to  the  necessity  of  further  time  for  preparation,  it  was  post- 
poned until  the  6th  of  August.  The  Earl  of  Eglintoun  was  cho- 
sen Chairman,  and  Professor  Wilson  Vice-Chairman ;  in  addition 
to  this,  all  the  most  eminent  British  authors  were  invited  to 
attend.  A  pavilion,  capable  of  containing  two  thousand  persons, 
had  been  erected  near  the  monument,  in  a  large  field,  which 
was  thrown  open  to  the  public.  Other  preparations  were  made 
and  the  meeting  was  expected  to  be  of  the  most  interesting 
character. 

When  we  arose  it  was  raining,  and  I  feared  that  the  weather 
might  dampen  somewhat  the  pleasures  of  the  day,  as  it  had  done 
to  the  celebrated  tournament  at  Eglintoun  Castle.  We  reached 
the  station  in  time  for  the  first  train,  and  sped  in  the  face  of  the 
wind  over  the  plains  of  Ayrshire,  which,  under  such  a  gloomy 
sky,  looked  most  desolate.  We  ran  some  distance  along  the 
coast,  having  a  view  of  the  Hills  of  Arran,  and  reached  Ayr 
about  nine  o'clock.  We  came  first  to  the  New  Bridge,  which 
had  a  triumphal  arch  in  the  middle,  and  the  lines,  from  the 
"  Twa  Brigs  of  Ayr:' 

"  Will  your  poor  narrow  foot-path  of  a  street, 
Where  twa  wheel-barrows  tremble  when  they  meet, 
Your  ruin'd,  formless  bulk  o'  stane  and  lime, 
Compare  wP  bonnie  brigs  o'  modern  time  ?" 

While  on  the  arch  of  the  'old  brig'  was  the  reply: 

'•I'll  be  a  brig  when  ye're  a  shapeless  stane." 

As  we  advanced  into  the  town,  the  decorations  became  more 
frequent.  The  streets  were  crowded  with  people  carrying  ban- 
ners and  wreaths,  many  of  the  houses  were  adorned  with  green 
boughs  and  the  vessels  in  the  harbor  hung  out  all  their  flags.  We 
saw  the  Wallace  Tower,  a  high  Gothic  building,  having  in  front 
a  statue  of  Wallace  leaning  on  his  sword,  by  Thom,  a  native  of 
A^yr,  and  on  our  way  to  the  green,  where  the  procession  was  to 


SCOTCH  BEGGARS  25 


assemble,  passed  under  the  triumphal  arch  thrown  across  the 
street  opposite  the  inn  where  Tarn  O'Shanter  caroused  so  long 
with  Souter  Johnny.  Leaving  the  companies  to  form  on  the  long 
meadow  bordering  the  shore,  we  set  out  for  the  Doon,  three  miles 
distant.  Beggars  were  seated  at  regular  distances  along  the 
road,  uttering  the  most  dolorous  whinings.  Both  bridges  were 
decorated  in  the  same  manner,  with  miserable  looking  objects, 
keeping  up,  during  the  whole  day,  a  continual  lamentation. 
Persons  are  prohibited  from  begging  in  England  and  Scotland, 
but  I  suppose,  this  being  an  extraordinary  day,  license  was  given 
them  as  a  favor,  to  beg  free.  1  noticed  that  the  women,  with 
their  usual  kindness  of  heart,  bestowed  nearly  all  the  alms 
which  ihese  unfortunate  objects  received.  The  night  before,  as 
1  was  walking  through  the  streets  of  Glasgow,  a  young  man  of 
the  poorer  class,  very  scantily  dressed,  stepped  up  to  me  and 
begged  me  to  listen  to  him  for  a  moment.  He  spoke  hurriedly, 
and  agitatedly,  begging  me,  in  God  s  name,  to  give  him  some- 
thing, however  little.  I  gave  him  what  few  pence  I  had  with 
me,  when  he  grasped  my  hand  with  a  quick  motion,  saying  : 
"  Sir,  you  little  think  how  much  you  have  done  for  me."  I  was 
about  to  inquire  more  particularly  into  his  situation,  but  he  had 
disappeared  among  the  crowd. 

We  passed  the  "  cairn  where  hunters  found  the  murdered 
bairn,"  along  a  pleasant  road  to  the  Burns  cottage,  where  it  was 
spanned  by  a  magnificent  triumphal  arch  of  evergreens  and  flow- 
ers.  To  the  disgrace  of  Scotland,  this  neat  little  thatched  cot, 
where  Burns  passed  the  first  seven  years  of  his  life,  is  now  occu- 
pied by  somebody,  who  has  stuck  up  a  sign  over  the  door, 
^^  licensed  to  retail  spirits,  to  he  drunk  on  the  premises ;''  and  ac- 
cordingly the  rooms  were  crowded  full  of  people,  all  drinking. 
There  was  a  fine  original  portrait  of  Burns  in  one  room,  and  in 
the  old  fashioned  kitchen  we  saw  the  recess  where'  he  was  born. 
The  hostess  looked  towards  us  as  if  to  inquire  what  we  would 
drink,  and  I  hastened  away — there  was  profanity  in  the  thought. 
But  by  this  time,  the  bell  of  Old  Alloway,  which  still  hangs  in 
its  accustomed  place,  though  the  walls  only  are  left,  began  toll- 
ing, and  we  obeyed  the  call.  The  attachment  of  the  people  for 
this  bell,  is  so  great,  that  a  short  time  ago,  when  it  was  ordered 

3 


26  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


to  be  removed,  the  inhabitants  rose  en  masse,  and  prevented  it. 
The  ruin,  which  is  close  by  the  road,  stands  in  the  middle  of  the 
church-yard,  and  the  first  thing  I  saw,  on  going  in  the  gate,  was 
the  tomb  of  the  father  of  Burns.  I  looked  in  the  old  window, 
but  the  interior  was  filled  with  rank  weeds,  and  overshadowed 
by  a  young  tree,  which  had  grown  nearly  to  the  eaves. 

The  crowd  was  now  fast  gathering  in  the   large  field,  in  the 
midst  of  which  the  pavilion  was  situated.     We  went  down  by  the 
beautiful  monument  to    Burns,   to  the   "  Auld  Brig  o'  Doon," 
which  was  spanned  by  an  arch  of  evergreens,  containing  a  repre- 
sentation of  Tam  O'Shanter  and  his   grey  mare,  pursued  by  the 
witches.     It   had   been  arranged  that  the   procession  was  to  pass 
over  the  old   and  new  bridges,  and  from   thence  by  a  temporary 
bridge  over  the  hedge  into  the  field.     At  this  latter  place  a  stand 
was  erected  for  the  sons  of  Burns,  the  officers  of  the  day,  and  dis- 
tinguished  guests.     Here  was  a  beautiful   specimen  of  English 
exclusiveness.      The    space   adjoining  the    pavilion   was  fenced 
around,  and  admittance  denied   at  first  to  any,  except  those  who 
had  tickets  for  the  dinner,  which,  the  price  being  fifteen  shillings, 
entirely  prevented  the  humble  laborers,  who,  more  than  all,  should 
participate  on  the  occasion,  from  witnessing  the  review  of  the  pro- 
cession by  the  sons  of  Burns,  and  hearing  the  eloquent  speeches 
of  Professor  Wilson  and  Lord  Eglintoun.    Thus,  of  the  many  thou- 
sands who  were  in  the  field,  but  a  few  hundred  who  were  crowded 
between  the  bridge  and  the  railing   around  the  pavilion,  enjoyed 
the  interesting  spectacle.     By  good   fortune,  I  obtained  a  stand, 
where  I  had  an  excellent  view  of  the  scene.     The  sons  of  Burns 
were  in  the  middle  of  the  platform,  with  Eglintoun  on  the  right, 
and  Wilson  on  their  left.     Mrs.  Begg,  sister  of  the  Poet,  with  her 
daughters,  stood  by  the  Countess  of  Eglintoun.     She  was  a  plain, 
benevolent  looking  woman,  dressed  in  black,  and  appearing  still 
active  and  vigorous,  though  she  is  upwards  of  eighty  years  old. 
She  bears  some  likeness,  especially  in  the  expression  of  her  eye, 
to  the  Poet.    Robert  Burns,  the  oldest  son,  appeared  to  me  to  have 
,a  strong  resemblance  of  his  father,  and  it  is  said   he  is  the  only 
one  who   remembers  his   face.     He  has  for  a  long  time  had  an 
office  under  Government,  in  London.     The  others  have  but  lately 
returned  from  a  residence  of  twenty  years  in  India.     Professor 


THE  PROCESSION.  27 


Wilson  appeared  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  scene  better  than 
any  of  them.  He  shouted  and  waved  his  hat,  and,  with  his  fine, 
broad  forehead,  his  long  brown  locks  already  mixed  with  gray, 
streaming  over  his  shoulders,  and  that  eagle  eye  glancing  over 
the  vast  assemblage,  seemed  a  real  Christopher  North,  yet  full  of 
the  fire  and  vigor  of  youth — "a  gray-haired,  happy  boy  !" 

About  half  of  the  procession  consisted  of  lodges  of  masons,  all 
of  whom  turned  out  on  the  occasion,  as  Burns  was  one  of  the  fra- 
ternity. I  was  most  interested  in  several  companies  of  shepherds, 
from  the  hills,  with  their  crooks  and  plaids  ;  a  body  of  archers  in 
Lincoln  green,  with  a  handsome  chief  at  their  head,  and  some 
Highlanders  in  their  most  picturesque  of  costumes.  As  one  of 
the  companies,  which  carried  a  mammoth  thistle  in  a  box,  came 
near  the  platform,  Wilson  snatched  a  branch,  regardless  of  its 
pricks,  and  placed  it  on  his  coat.  After  this  pageant,  which  could 
not  have  been  much  less  than  three  miles  long,  had  passed,  a  band 
was  stationed  on  the  platform  in  the  centre  of  the  field,  around 
which  it  formed  in  a  circle,  and  the  whole  company  sang,  "Ye 
Banks  and  Braes  o'  Bonnie  Doon."  Just  at  this  time,  a  person 
dressed  to  represent  Tam  O'Shanter,  mounted  on  a  gray  mare, 
issued  from  a  field  near  the  Burns  Pvlonument  and  rode  along 
towards  AUoway  Kirk,  from  which,  when  he  approached  it,  a 
whole  legion  of  witches  sallied  out  and  commenced  a  hot  pur- 
suit. They  turned  back,  however,  at  the  keystone  of  the  bridge, 
the  witch  with  the  "cutty  sark"  holding  up  in  triumph  the  ab- 
stracted tail  of  Maggie.  Soon  after  this  the  company  entered  the 
pavilion,  and  the  thousands  outside  were  entertained,  as  an  espe- 
cial favor,  by  the  band  of  the  87th  Regiment,  while  from  the 
many  liquor  booths  around  the  field,  they  could  enjoy  themselves 
in  another  way. 

We  went  up  to  the  Monument,  which  was  of  more  particular 
interest  to  us,  from  the  relics  within,  but  admission  was  denied  to 
all.  Many  persons  were  collected  around  the  gate,  some  of  whom, 
having  come  from  a  great  distance,  were  anxious  to  see  it ;  but 
the  keeper  only  said,  such  were  the  orders  and  he  could  not  dis- 
obey them.  Among  the  crowd,  a  grandson  of  the  original  Tam 
O'Shanter  was  shown  to  us.  He  was  a  raw-looking  boy  of  nine- 
teen or  twenty,  wearing  a  shepherd's  cop  and  jacket,  and  mutter- 


28  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


ed  his  disapprobation  very  decidedly,  at  not  being  able  to  visit  the 
Monument. 

There  were  one  or  two  showers  during  the  day,  and  the  sky, 
all  the  time,  was  dark  and  lowering,  which  was  unfavorable  for 
the  celebration  ;  but  all  were  glad  enough  that  the  rain  kept 
aloof  till  the  ceremonies  were  nearly  over.  The  speeches  deliv- 
ered at  the  dinner,  which  appeared  in  the  papers  next  morning, 
are  undoubtedly  very  eloquent.  I  noticed  in  the  remarks  of 
Robert  Burns,  in  reply  to  Professor  Wilson,  an  acknowledgment 
which  the  other  speakers  forgot.  He  said,  "  The  Sons  of  Burns 
have  grateful  hearts,  and  to  the  last  hour  of  their  existence,  they 
will  remember  the  honor  that  has  been  paid  them  this  day,  by  the 
noble,  the  lovely  and  the  talented,  of  their  native  land — by  men 
of  genius  and  kindred  spirit  from  our  sister  land — and  lastly, 
they  owe  their  thanks  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  far  distant  west,  a 
country  of  a  great,  free,  and  kindred  people  !  (loud  cheers.)"  In 
connexion  with  this  subject,  I  saw  an  anecdote  of  the  Poet,  yes- 
terday, which  is  not  generally  known.  During  his  connexion 
with  the  Excise,  he  was  one  day  at  a  parly,  where  the  health  of 
Pitt,  then  minister,  was  proposed,  as  "  his  master  and  theirs." 
He  immediately  turned  down  his  glass  and  said,  "  I  will  give  you 
*he  health  of  a  far  greater  and  better  man — George  Wash- 
ington ! " 

We  left  the  field  early  and  went  back  through  the  muddy 
streets  of  Ayr.  The  street  before  the  railway  office  was  crowded, 
and  there  was  so  dense  a  mass  of  people  on  the  steps,  that  it 
seemed  almost  impossible  to  get  near.  Seeing  no  other  chance, 
I  managed  to  take  my  stand  on  the  lowest  steps,  where  the  pres- 
sure of  the  crowd  behind  and  the  working  of  the  throng  on  the 
steps,  raised  me  off  my  feet,  and  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  car- 
ried me,  compressed  into  the  smallest  possible  space,  up  the  steps 
to  the  door,  where  the  crowd  burst  in  by  fits,  like  water  rushing 
out  of  a  bottle.  We  esteemed  ourselves  fortunate  in  getting 
room  to  stand  in  an  open  car,  where,  after  a  two  hours'  ride 
through  the  wind  and  pelting  rain,  we  arrived  at  Glasgow. 


EDINBURG.  29 


CHAPTER    V. 

WALK   FROM    EDINBURG    O  ""ER   THE    BORDER   AND    ARRiVAL   AT 

LONDON. 

We  left  Glasgow  on  the  morning  after  returning  from  the 
Burns  Festival,  taking  passage  in  the  open  cars  for  Edinburg,  for 
six  shillings.  On  leaving  the  depot,  we  plunged  into  the  heart 
of  the  hill  on  which  Glasgow  Cathedral  stands  and  were  whisked 
through  darkness  and  sulphury  smoke  to  daylight  again.  The 
cars  bore  us  past  a  spur  of  the  Highlands,  through  a  beautiful 
country  where  women  were  at  work  in  the  fields,  to  Linlithgow, 
the  birth-place  of  Queen  Mary.  The  majestic  ruins  of  its  once- 
proud  palace,  stand  on  a  green  meadow  behind  the  town.  In 
another  hour  we  were  walking  through  Edinburg,  admiring  its 
palace-like  edifices,  and  stopping  every  few  minutes  to  gaze  up 
at  some  lofty  monument.  Really,  thought  I,  we  call  Baltimore 
the  "  Monumental  City"  for  its  two  marble  columns,  and  here 
is  Edinburg  with  one  at  every  street-corner !  These,  too,  not  in 
the  midst  of  glaring  red  buildings,  where  they  seem  to  have 
been  accidentally  dropped,  but  framed  in  by  lofty  granite  man- 
sions, whose  long  vistas  make  an  appropriate  background  to  the 
picture. 

We  looked  from  Calton  Hill  on  Salisbury  Crags  and  over  the 
Frith  of  Forth,  then  descended  to  dark  old  Holyrood,  where  the 
memory  of  lovely  Mary  lingers  like  a  stray  sunbeam  in  her  cold 
halls,  and  the  fair,  boyish  face  of  Rizzio  looks  down  from  the 
canvass  on  the  armor  of  his  murderer.  We  threaded  the  Ca- 
nongate  and  climbed  to  the  Castle ;  and  finally,  after  a  day  and 
a  half's  sojourn,  buckled  on  our  knapsacks  and  marched  out 
of  the  Northern  Athens.  In  a  short  time  the  tall  spire  of  Dal- 
keith appeared  above  the  green  wood,  and  we  saw  to  the  right, 
perched  on  the  steep  banks  of  the  Esk,  the  picturesque  cottage  of 


30  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Hawthornden,  where  Drummond  once  lived  in  poetic  solitude. 
VVe  made  haste  to  cross  the  dreary  waste  of  the  Muirfoot  Hills 
before  nightfall,  from  the  highest  summit  of  which  we  took  a 
last  view  of  Edinburg  Castle  and  the  Salisbury  Crags,  then  blue 
in  the  distance.  Far  to  the  east  were  the  hills  of  Lammermuir 
and  the  country  of  Mid-Lothian  lay  before  us.  It  was  all  Scott- 
land.  The  inn  of  Torsonce,  beside  the  Gala  Water,  was  our 
resting-place  for  the  night.  As  we  approached  Galashiels  the 
next  morning,  where  the  bed  of  the  silver  Gala  is  nearly  emptied 
by  a  number  of  dingy  manufactories,  the  hills  opened,  disclosing 
the  sweet  vale  of  the  Tweed,  guarded  by  the  triple  peak  of  the 
Eildon,  at  whose  base  lay  nestled  the  village  of  Melrose. 

I  stopped  at  a  bookstore  to  purchase  a  view  of  the  Abbey ;  to 
my  surprise  nearly  half  the  works  were  by  American  authors. 
There  were  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Channing,  Emerson,  Dana, 
Ware  and  many  others.  The  bookseller  told  me  he  had  sold 
more  of  Ware's  Letters  than  any  other  book  in  his  store,  "  and 
also,"  to  use  his  own  words,  "  an  immense  number  of  the  great 
Dr.  Channing."  I  have  seen  English  editions  of  Percival,  Willis, 
Whittier  and  Mrs.  Sigourney,  but  Bancroft  and  Prescott  are 
clasgsd  amono^  the  '•'  standard  British  historians." 

Crossing  the  Gala  we  ascended  a  hill  on  the  road  to  Selkirk, 
and  behold  !  the  Tweed  ran  below,  and  opposite,  in  the  midst 
of  em.bowering  trees  planted  by  the  hand  of  Scott,  rose  the  grey 
halls  of  Abbotsford.     We  went  down  a  lane  to  the  banks  of  the 

swift  stream,  but  finding  no  ferry,  B and  I,  as  it  looked  very 

shallow,  thought  we  might  save  a  long  walk   by  wading  across. 

F preferred   hunting  for   a  boat ;  we   two  set  out  together, 

with  our  knapsacks  on  our  backs,  and  our  boots  in  our  hands. 
The  current  was  ice-cold  and  very  swift,  and  as  the  bed  was 
covered  with  loose  stones,  it  required  the  greatest  care  to  stand 
upright.  Looking  at  the  bottom,  through  the  rapid  water,  made 
my  head  so  giddy,  I  was  forced  to  stop  and  shut  my  eyes  ;  my 
friend,  who  had  firmer  nerves,  went  plunging  on  to  a  deeper  and 
swifter  part,  where  the  strength  of  the  current  made  him  stagger 
-very  unpleasantly.  I  called  to  him  to  return  ;  the  next  thing  I 
'saw,  he  gave  a  plunge  and  went  down  to  the  shoulder  in  the  cold 
flood.     While  he  was  struggling  with  a  frightened  expression  of 


ABBOTSFORD.  31 


face  to  recover  his  footing,  I  leaned  on  my  staff  and  laughed  till 
I  was  on  the   point  of  falling   also.     To  crown  our  mortification, 

F had  found  a  ferry  a  few   yards  higher  up  and  was  on  the 

opposite  shore,  watching  us  wade  back  again,  my  friend  with 
dripping  clothes  and  boots  full  of  water.  I  could  not  forgive  the 
pretty  Scotch  damsel  who  rowed  us  across,  the  mischievous  lurk- 
ing smile  which  told  that  she  too  had  witnessed  the  adventure. 

We  found  a  foot-path  on  the  other  side,  which  led  through  a 
young  forest  to  Abbotsford.  Rude  pieces  of  sculpture,  taken 
from  Melrose  Abbey,  were  scattered  around  the  gate,  some  half 
buried  in  the  earth  and  overgrown  with  weeds.  The  niches  in 
the  walls  were  filled  with  pieces  of  sculpture,  and  an  antique 
marble  greyhound  reposed  in  the  middle  of  the  court  yard.  We 
rang  the  bell  in  an  outer  vestibule,  ornamented  with  several  pairs 
of  antlers,  when  a  lady  appeared,  who,  from  her  appearance,  I 
have  no  doubt  was  Mrs.  Ormand,  the  "  Duenna  of  Abbotsford," 
so  humorously  described  by  D'Arlincourt,  in  his  "  Three  King, 
doms."  She  ushered  us  into  the  entrance  hall,  which  has  a  mag- 
nificent ceiling  of  carved  oak  and  is  lighted  by  lofty  stained  win- 
dows. An  effigy  of  a  knight  in  armor  stood  at  either  end,  one 
holding  a  huge  two-handed  sword  found  on  Bosworth  Field ;  the 
walls  were  covered  with  helmets  and  breastplates  of  the  olden 
time. 

Among  the  curiosities  in  the  Armory  are  Napoleon's  pistols, 
the  blunderbuss  of  Hofer,  Rob  Roy's  purse  and  gun,  and  the 
offering  box  of  Queen  Mary.  Through  the  folding  doors  between 
the  dining-room,  drawing-room  and  library,  is  a  fine  vista,  tet 
minated  by  a  niche,  in  which  stands  Chantrey's  bust  of  Scott. 
The  ceilings  are  of  carved  Scottish  oak  and  the  doors  of  Ameri- 
can cedar.  Adjoining  the  library  is  his  study,  the  walls  of  which 
are  covered  with  books  ;  the  doors  and  windows  are  double,  to 
render  it  quiet  and  undisturbed.  His  books  and  inkstand  are  on 
the  table  and  his  writing-chair  stands  before  it,  as  if  he  had  left 
them  but  a  moment  before.  In  a  little  closet  adjoining,  where  he 
kept  his  private  manuscripts,  are  the  clothes  he  last  wore,  his 
cane  and  belt,  to  which  a  hammer  and  small  axe  are  attached, 
and  his  sword.  A  narrow  staircase  led  from  the  study  to  his 
sleeping  room  above,  by  which  he  could  come  down  at  night  and 


32  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


work  while  his  family  slept.  The  silence  about  the  place  is  sol- 
emn and  breathless,  as  if  it  waited  to  be  broken  by  his  returning 
footstep.  I  felt  an  awe  in  treading  these  lonely  halls,  like  that 
which  impressed  me  before  the  grave  of  Washington — a  feeling 
that  hallowed  the  spot,  as  if  there  yet  lingered  a  low  vibration 
of  the  lyre,  though  the  minstrel  had  departed  forever ! 

Plucking  a  wild  rose  that  grew  near  the  walls,  I  left  Abbots- 
ford,  embosomed  among  the  trees,  and  turned  into  a  green  lane 
that  led  down  to  Melrose.  We  went  immediately  to  the  Abbey, 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  village,  near  the  Tweed.  As  I  ap- 
proached the  gate,  the  porteress  came  out,  and  having  scruti- 
nized me  rather  sharply,  asked  my  name.  I  told  her ; — "  well," 
she  added,  "  there  is  a  prospect  here  for  you."  Thinking  she 
alluded  to  the  ruin,  I  replied  :  "  Yes,  the  view  is  certainly  very 
fine."  "  Oh  !  I  don't  mean  that,"  she  replied,  "  a  young  gentle- 
man left  a  prospect  here  for  you  !" — whereupon  she  brought  out  a 
spy-glass,  which  I  recognized  as  one  that  our  German  comrade  had 
given  to  me.     He  had  gone  on,  and  hoped  to  meet  us  at  Jedburgh. 

Melrose  is  the  finest  remaining  specimen  of  Gothic  architec- 
ture in  Scotland.  Some  of  the  sculptured  flowers  in  the  cloister 
arches  are  remarkably  beautiful  and  delicate,  and  the  two  windows 
—  the  south  and  east  oriels — are  of  a  lightness  and  grace  of  exe- 
cution really  surprising.  We  saw  the  tomb  of  Michael  Scott, 
of  King  Alexander  II,  and  that  of  the  Douglas,  marked  with  a 
sword.  The  heart  of  Bruce  is  supposed  to  have  been  buried  be- 
neath the  high  altar.  The  chancel  is  all  open  to  the  sky,  and 
rooks  build  their  nests  among  the  wild  ivy  that  climbs  over  the 
crumbling  arches.  One  of  these  came  tamely  down  and  perched 
upon  the  hand  of  our  fair  guide.  By  a  winding  stair  in  one  of 
the  towers  we  mounted  to  the  top  of  the  arch  and  looked  down 
on  the  grassy  floor.  I  sat  on  the  broken  pillar,  which  Scott  al- 
ways used  for  a  seat  when  he  visited  the  Abbey,  and  read  the 
disinterring  of  the  magic  book,  in  the  "Lay  of  the  Last  Min- 
strel." I  never  comprehended  its  full  beauty  till  then ;  the 
memory  of  Melrose  will  give  it  a  thrilling  interest,  in  the  future. 
When  we  left,  I  was  willing  to  say,  with  the  Minstrel : 


"  Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair  I" 


CROSSING  THE  CHEVIOTS.  32 

After  seeing  the  home  and  favorite  haunt  of  Scott,  we  felt  a 
wish  to  stand  by  his  grave,  but  we  had  Ancrum  Moor  to  pass  be- 
fore night,  and  the  Tweed  was  between  us  and  Dry  burgh  Abbey. 
We  did  not  wish  to  try  another  watery  adventure,  and  therefore 
walked  on  to  the  village  of  Ancrum,  where  a  gate-keeper  on  the 
road  gave  us  lodging  and  good  fare,  for  a  moderate  price.  Many 
o^this  class  practise  this  double  employment,  and  the  economical 
traveller,  who  looks  more  to  comfort  than  luxury,  will  not  fail  to 
patronize  them. 

Next  morning  we  took  a  foot-path  over  the  hills  to  Jedburgh. 
From  the  summit  there  was  a  lovely  view  of  the  valley  of  the 
Teviot,  with  the  blue  Cheviots  in  the  distance.  I  thought  of 
Pringle's  beautiful  farewell : 

"  Our  native  land,  our  native  vale, 
A  long,  a  last  adieu, 
Farewell  to  bonny  Teviot-dale, 
And  Cheviot's  mountains  blue !" 

The  poet  was  born  in  the  valley  below,  and  one  that  looks  upon 
its  beauty  cannot  wonder  how  his  heart  clung  to  the  scenes  he 
was  leaving.  We  saw  Jedburgh  and  its  majestic  old  Abbey,  and 
ascended  the  valley  of  the  Jed  towards  the  Cheviots.  The  hills, 
covered  with  woods  of  a  richness  and  even  gorgeous  beauty  of 
foliage,  shut  out  this  lovely  glen  completely  from  the  world.  I 
found  myself  continually  coveting  the  lonely  dwellings  that  were 
perched  on  the  rocky  heights,  or  nestled,  like  a  fairy  pavilion,  in 
the  lap  of  a  grove.  These  forests  formerly  furnished  the  wood 
for  the  celebrated  Jedwood  axe,  used  in  the  Border  forays. 

As  we  continued  ascending,  the  prospect  behind  us  widened, 
till  we  reached  the  summit  of  the  Carter  Fell,  whence  there  is  a 
view  of  great  extent  and  beauty.  The  Eildon  Hills,  though 
twenty-five  miles  distant,  seemed  in  the  foreground  of  the  picture. 
With  a  glass,  Edinburgh  Castle  might  be  seen  over  the  dim  out- 
line of  the  Muirfoot  Hills.  After  crossing  the  border,  we  passed 
the  scene  of  the  encounter  between  Percy  and  Douglass,  cele. 
brated  in  "Chevy  Chase,"  and  at  the  lonely  inn  of  Whitelee,  in 
the  valley  below,  took  up  our  quarters  for  the  night. 

Travellers  have  described  the  Cheviots  as  being  bleak  and  un 


S4  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


interesting.  Although  they  are  bare  and  brown,  to  me  the  scen- 
ery was  of  a  character  of  beauty  entirely  original.  They  are 
not  rugged  and  broken  like  the  Highlands,  but  lift  their  round 
backs  gracefully  from  the  plain,  while  the  more  distant  ranges 
are  clad  in  many  an  airy  hue.  Willis  quaintly  and  truly  re- 
marks, that  travellers  only  tell  you  the  picture  produced  in  their 
own  brain  by  what  they  see,  otherwise  the  world  would  be  like  a 
pawnbroker's  shop,  where  each  traveller  wears  the  cast-off  clothes 
of  others.  Therefore  let  no  one,  of  a  gloomy  temperament,  jour- 
neying over  the  Cheviots  in  dull  November,  arraign  me  for  hav- 
ing falsely  praised  their  beauty. 

I  was  somewhat  amused  with  seeing  a  splendid  carriage  with 
footmen  and  outriders,  crossing  the  mountain,  the  glorious  land- 
scape full  in  view,  containing  a  richly  dressed  lady,  fast  asleep! 
It  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  meet  carriages  in  the  Highlands, 
in  which  the  occupants  are  comfortably  reading,  while  being 
whirled  through  the  finest  scenery.  And  aj9ropo5  of  this  subject, 
my  German  friend  related  to  me  an  incident.  His  brother  was 
travelling  on  the  Rhine,  and  when  in  the  midst  of  the  grandest 
scenes,  met  a  carriage  containing  an  English  gentleman  and  lady, 
both  asleep,  while  on  the  seat  behind  was  stationed  an  artist, 
sketching  away  with  all  his  might.  He  asked  the  latter  the  rea- 
son of  his  industry,  when  he  answered,  "  Oh  !  my  lord  wishes  to 
see  every  night  what  he  has  passed  during  the  day,  and  so  I 
sketch  as  we  go  along !" 

The  hills,  particularly  on  the  English  side,  are  covered  with 
flocks  of  sheep,  and  lazy  shepherds  lay  basking  in  the  sun,  among 
the  purple  heather,  with  their  shaggy  black  dogs  beside  them.  On 
many  of  the  hills  are  landmarks,  by  which,  when  the  snow  has 
covered  all  the  tracks,  they  can  direct  their  way.  After  walking 
many  miles  through  green  valleys,  down  which  flowed  the  Red 
Water,  its  very  name  telling  of  the  conflicts  which  had  crimsoned 
its  tide,  we  came  to  the  moors,  and  ten  miles  of  blacker,  drearier 
waste  I  never  saw.  Before  entering  them  we  passed  the  pretty 
little  village  of  Otterburn,  near  the  scene  of  the  battle.  I  brought 
away  a  wild  flower  that  grew  on  soil  enriched  by  the  blood  of  the 
Percys.  On  the  village  inn,  is  their  ancient  coat  of  arms,  a  lion 
rampant,  on  a  field  of  gold,  with  the  motto,  "  Esperance  en  Dieu.'' 


ROMAN  RUINS  IN  NEWCASTLE.  35 

Scarcely  a  house  or  a  tree  enlivened  the  black  waste,  and  even  the 
road  was  marked  on  each  side  by  high  poles,  to  direct  the  travel- 
ler in  winter.  We  were  glad  when  at  length  the  green  fields  came 
again  in  sight,  and  the  little  village  of  Whelpington  Knowes,  with 
its  old  ivy-grown  church  tower,  welcomed  us  after  the  lonely  walk. 

As  one  specimen  of  the  intelligence  of  this  part  of  England,  we 
saw  a  board  conspicuously  posted  at  the  commencement  of  a  pri- 
vate road,  declaring  that  "  all  persons  travelling  this  way  will  be 
persecuted.^'  As  it  led  to  a  church,  however,  there  may  have 
been  a  design  in  the  expression. 

On  the  fifth  day  after  leaving  Edinburgh,  we  reached  a  hill, 
overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Tyne  and  the  German  Ocean,  as 
sunset  was  reddening  in  the  west.  A  cloud  of  coal-smoke  made 
us  aware  of  the  vicinity  of  Newcastle.  On  the  summit  of  the 
hill  a  large  cattle  fair  was  being  held,  and  crowds  of  people  were 
gathered  in  and  around  a  camp  of  gaudily  decorated  tents.  Fires 
v^ere  kindled  here  and  there,  and  drinking,  carousing  and  horse- 
racing  were  flourishing  in  full  vigor. 

We  set  out  one  morning  to  hunt  the  Roman  Wall.  Passing 
the  fine  buildings  in  the  centre  of  the  city  and  the  lofty  monu- 
ment to  Earl  Grey,  we  went  towards  the  western  gate  and  soon 
came  to  the  ruins  of  a  building,  about  whose  origin  there  could 
be  no  doubt.  It  stood  there,  blackened  by  the  rust  of  ages,  a 
remnant  of  power  passed  away.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
massive  round  tower,  with  its  projecting  ornaments,  such  as  are 
often  seen  in  the  ruder  works  of  the  Romans.  On  each  side  a 
fragment  of  wall  remained  standing,  and  there  appeared  to  be  a 
chamber  in  the  interior,  which  was  choked  up  with  rubbish.. 
There  is  another  tower,  much  higher,  in  a  public  square  in  an- 
other part  of  the  city,  a  portion  of  which  is  fitted  up  as  a  dwelling 
for  the  family  which  takes  care  of  it ;  but  there  was  such  a  ridi- 
culous contrast  between  the  ivy-grown  top,  and  the  handsome 
modern  windows  and  doors  of  the  lower  story,  that  it  did  not 
impress  me  half  as  much  as  the  other,  with  all  its  neglect. 
These  are  the  farthest  limits  of  that  power  whose  mighty  works 
I  hope  hereafter  to  view  at  the  seat  of  her  grandeur  and  glory. 

I  witnessed  a  scene  at  Newcastle  that  cannot  soon  be  forgotten ; 
as  it  showed  more  plainly  than  I  had  before  an  opportunity  of 


36  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


observing,  the  state  to  which  the  laboring  classes  of  England  are 
reduced.  Hearing  singing  in  the  street,  under  my  window,  one 
morning,  I  looked  out  and  saw  a  body  of  men,  apparently  of  the 
lower  class,  but  decent  and  sober  looking,  who  were  singing  in  a 
rude  and  plaintive  strain  some  ballad,  the  purport  of  which  I 
could  not  understand.  On  making  inquir}^,  I  discovered  it  was 
part  of  a  body  of  miners,  who,  about  eighteen  weeks  before,  in 
consequence  of  not  being  able  to  support  their  families  with  the 
small  pittance  allowed  them,  had  "  struck"  for  higher  wages. 
This  their  employers  refused  to  give  them,  and  sent  to  Wales, 
where  they  obtained  workmen  at  the  former  price.  The  houses 
these  laborers  had  occupied  were  all  taken  from  them,  and  for 
eighteen  weeks  they  had  no  other  means  of  subsistence  than  the 
casual  charity  given  them  for  singing  the  story  of  their  wrongs. 
It  made  my  blood  boil  to  hear  those  tones,  wrung  from  the  heart 
of  poverty  by  the  hand  of  tyranny.  The  ignorance,  permitted 
by  the  government,  causes  an  unheard  amount  of  misery  and  de- 
gradation. We  heard  afterwards  in  the  streets,  another  company 
who  played  on  musical  instruments.  Beneath  the  proud  swell  of 
England's  martial  airs,  there  sounded  to  my  ears  a  tone  whose 
gathering  murmur  will  make  itself  heard  ere  long  by  the  dull 
ears  of  Power. 

At  last  at  the  appointed  time,  we  found  ourselves  on  board  the 
"  London  Merchant,"  in  the  muddy  Tyne,  waiting  for  the  tide  to 
rise  high  enough  to  permit  us  to  descend  the  river.  There  is 
great  competition  among  the  steamboats  this  summer,  and  the 
price  of  passage  to  London  is  reduced  to  five  and  ten  shillings. 
The  second  cabin,  however,  is  a  place  of  tolerable  comfort,  and 
as  the  steward  had  promised  to  keep  berths  for  us,  we  engaged 
passage.  Following  the  windings  of  the  narrow  river,  we  passed 
Sunderland  and  Tynemouth,  where  it  expands  into  the  German 
Ocean.  The  water  was  barely  stirred  by  a  gentle  wind,  and 
little  resembled  the  stormy  sea  I  expected  to  find  it.  We  glided 
over  the  smooth  surface,  watching  the  blue  line  of  the  distant 
shore  till  dark,  when  I  went  below  expecting  to  enjoy  a  few  hours' 
oblivion.  But  the  faithless  steward  had  given  up  the  promised 
berth  to  another,  and  it  was  only  with  difficulty  that  I  secured  a 
seat  by  the  cabin  table,  where  I  dozed  half  the  night  with  my 


ARRIVAL  AT  LONDON.  57 

head  on  my  arms.  It  grew  at  last  too  close  and  wearisome ;  I 
went  up  on  deck  and  lay  down  on  the  windlass,  taking  care  to 
balance  myself  well  before  goin^  to  sleep.  The  earliest  light  of 
dawn  awoke  me  to  a  consciousness  of  damp  clothes  and  bruiseo 
limbs.  We  were  in  sight  of  the  low  shore  the  whole  day.  some- 
times seeing  the  dim  outline  of  a  church,  or  group  of  trees  over 
the  downs  or  flat  beds  of  sand,  which  border  the  eastern  coast  of 
England.  About  dark,  the  red  light  of  the  Nore  was  seen,  and 
we  hoped  before  many  hours  to  be  in  London.  The  lights  of 
Gravesend  were  passed,  but  about  ten  o'clock,  as  we  entered  the 
narrow  channel  of  the  Thames,  we  struck  another  steamboat  m 
the  darkness,  and  were  obliged  to  cast  anchor  for  some  time. 
When  I  went  on  deck  in  the  gray  light  of  morning  again,  we 
were  gliding  up  a  narrow,  muddy  river,  between  rows  of  gloomy 
buildings,  with  many  vessels  lying  at  anchor.  It  grew  lighter, 
till,  as  we  turned  a  point,  right  before  me  lay  a  vast  crowd  of 
vessels,  and  in  the  distance,  above  the  wilderness  of  buildings, 
stood  a  dim,  gigantic  dome  in  the  sky  ;  what  a  bound  my  heart 
gave  at  the  sight !  And  the  tall  pillar  that  stood  near  it — I  did 
not  need  a  second  glance  to  recognize  the  Monument-  I  knew 
the  majestic  bridge  that  spanned  the  river  above  ;  but  on  the  right 
bank  stood  a  cluster  of  massive  buildings,  crowned  with  many  a 
turret,  that  attracted  my  eye.  A  crowd  of  old  associations  pressed 
bewilderingly  upon  the  mind,  to  see  standing  there,  grim  and  dark 
with  many  a  bloody  page  of  England's  history — the  Tower  of 
London  !  The  morning  sky  was  as  yet  but  faintly  obscured  by 
the  coal-smoke,  and  in  the  misty  light  of  coming  sunrise,  all 
objects  seemed  grander  than  their  wont.  In  spite  of  the  thrilling 
interest  of  the  scene,  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  Byron's  ludi- 
crous but  most  expressive  description  : 

"  A  miglity  mass  of  brick  and  smoke  and  skipping, 

Dirty  and  dusky,  but  as  wide  as  eye 
Can  reach ;  with  here  and  there  a  sail  just  skipping 

In  sight,  then  lost  amidst  the  forestry 
Of  masts  ;  a  wilderness  of  steeples  peeping 

On  tiptoe  through  their  sea-coal  canopy  ; 
A  huge  dun  cupola,  like  a  foors-cap  crown 
On  a  fool's  head, — and  there  is  London  town." 


3S  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

SOME    OF    THE    "  SIGHlTs"    OF    LONDON. 

In  the  course  of  time  we  came  to  anchor  in  the  stream ;  skiffs 
fiom  the  shore  pulled  alongside,  and  after  some  little  quarrelling, 
we  were  safely  deposited  in  one,  with  a  party  who  desired  to  be 
landed  at  the  Tower  Stairs.  The  dark  walls  frowned  above  us 
as  we  mounted  from  the  water  and  passed  into  an  open  square 
on  the  outside  of  the  moat.  The  laborers  were  about  commenc- 
ing work,  the  fashionable  day  having  just  closed,  but  there  was 
still  noise  and  bustle  enough  in  the  streets,  particularly  when  we 
reached  Whitechapel,  part  of  the  great  thoroughfare,  extending 
through  the  heart  of  London  to  Westminster  Abbey  and  the  Par- 
liament buildings.  Further  on,  through  Leadenhall  street  and 
Fleet  street — what  a  world  !  Here  come  the  ever-thronging, 
ever-rolling  waves  of  life,  pressing  and  whirling  on  in  their  tu- 
multuous career.  Here  day  and  night  pours  the  stream  of  hu- 
man beings,  seeming  amid  the  roar  and  din  and  clatter  of  the 
passing  vehicles,  like  the  tide  of  some  great  combat.  How  lonely 
it  makes  one  to  stand  still  and  feel  that  of  all  the  mighty  throng 
which  divides  itself  around  him,  not  a  being  knows  or  cares  for 
him  !  What  knows  he  too  of  the  thousands  who  pass  him  by  ? 
How  many  who  bear  the  impress  of  godlike  virtue,  or  hide  beneath 
a  goodly  countenance  a  heart  black  with  crime  ?  How  many  fiery 
spirits,  all  glowing  with  hope  for  the  yet  unclouded  future,  or 
brooding  over  a  darkened  and  desolate  past  in  the  agony  of  des- 
pair ?  There  is  a  sublimity  in  this  human  Niagara  that  makes 
one  look  on  his  own  race  with  somethinij  of  awe. 

We  walked  down  the  Thames,  through  the  narrow  streets  of 
Wapping.  Over  the  mouth  of  the  Tunnel  is  a  large  circular 
building,  with  a  dome  to  light  the  entrance  below.  Paying  the 
fee  of  a  penny,  we  descended  by  a  winding  staircase  to  the  bot- 


THE   TUNNEL  AND  ST.  PAULS.  39 

torn,  which  is  seventy-three  feet  belovv  the  surface.  The  car- 
riage-way, still  unfinished,  will  extend  further  into  the  city. 
From  the  bottom  the  view  of  the  two  arches  of  the  Tunnel,  bril- 
liantly lighted  with  gas,  is  very  fine  ;  it  has  a  much  less  heavv 
and  gloomy  appearance  than  1  expected.  As  we  walked  along 
under  the  bed  of  the  river,  two  or  three  girls  at  one  end  began 
playing  on  the  French  horn  and  bugle,  and  the  echoes,  when  not 
too  deep  to  confuse  the  melody,  were  remarkably  beautiful.  Be- 
tween the  arches  of  the  division  separating  the  two  passages,  are 
shops,  occupied  by  venders  of  fancy  articles,  views  of  the  Tun- 
nel, engravings,  &c.  In  the  middle  is  a  small  printing  press, 
\yhere  a  sheet  containing  a  description  of  the  whole  work  is  print- 
ed for  those  who  desire  it.  As  1  was  no  stranger  to  this  art,  I 
requested  the  boy  to  let  me  print  one  myself,  but  he  had  such  » 
bad  roller  I  did  not  succeed  in  getting  a  good  impression.  Tha 
air  within  is  somewhat  damp,  but  fresh  and  agreeably  cool,  and 
one  can  scarcely  realize  in  walking  along  the  light  passage,  that 
a  river  is  rolling  above  his  head.  The  immense  solidity  and 
compactness  of  the  structure  precludes  the  danger  of  accident, 
each  of  the  sides  being  arched  outwards,  so  that  the  heaviest 
pressure  only  strengthens  the  whole.  It  will  long  remain  a  noble 
monument  of  human  daring  and  ingenuity. 

St.  Paul's  is  on  a  scale  of  grandeur  excelling  every  thing  I 
have  yet  seen.  The  dome  seems  to  stand  in  the  sky,  as  you  look 
up  to  it ;  the  distance  from  which  you  view  it,  combined  with  the 
atmosphere  of  London,  give  it  a  dim,  shadowy  appearance,  that 
perfectly  startles  one  with  its  immensity,  'j  ne  roof  from  which 
the  dome  springs  is  itself  as  high  as  the  spires  of  most  other 
churches — blackened  for  two  hundred  years  with  the  coal-smoke 
of  London,  it  stands  like  a  relic  of  the  giant  architecture  of  the 
early  world.  The  interior  is  what  one  would  expect  to  behold, 
after  viewing  the  outside.  A  maze  of  grand  arches  on  every 
side,  encompasses  the  dome,  which  you  gaze  up  at,  as  at  the  sky  ; 
and  from  every  pillar  and  wall  look  down  the  marble  forms  of 
the  dead.  There  is  scarcely  a  vacant  niche  left  in  all  this  mighty 
hall,  so  many  are  the  statues  that  meet  one  on  every  side.  With 
the  exceptions  of  John  Howard,  Sir  Astley  Cooper  and  Wren, 
'hose  monument  is  the  church  itself,  they  are  all  to  military 


40  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


men.  I  thought  if  they  had  all  been  removed  except  Howard's, 
it  would  better  have  suited  such  a  temple,  and  the  great  soul  it 
commemorated. 

I  never  was  more  impressed  with  the  grandeur  of  human  in- 
vention, than  when  ascending  the  dome.  I  could  with  difficulty 
conceive  the  means  by  which  such  a  mighty  edifice  had  been 
lifted  into  the  air.  That  small  frame  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren 
must  have  contained  a  mind  capable  of  vast  conceptions.  The 
dome  is  like  the  summit  of  a  mountain  ;  so  wide  is  the  prospect, 
and  so  great  the  pile  upon  which  you  stand.  London  lay  beneath 
us,  like  an  ant-hill,  with  the  black  insects  swarming  to  and  fro  in 
their  long  avenues,  the  sound  of  their  employments  coming  up 
like  the  roar  of  the  sea.  A  cloud  of  coal-smoke  hung  over  it, 
through  which  many  a  pointed  spire  was  thrust  up ;  sometimes 
the  wind  would  blow  it  aside  for  a  moment,  and  the  thousands  of 
red  roofs  would  shine  out  clearer.  The  bridged  Thames,  covered 
with  craft  of  all  sizes,  wound  beneath  us  like  a  ringed  and  spotted 
serpent.  The  scene  was  like  an  immense  circular  picture  in 
the  blue  frame  of  the  hills  around. 

Continuing  our  way  up  Fleet  street,  which,  notwithstanding 
the  gaiety  of  its  shops  and  its  constant  bustle,  has  an  antique  ap- 
pearance, we  came  to  the  Temple  Bar,  the  western  boundary  of 
the  ancient  city.  In  the  inside  of  the  middle  arch,  the  old  gates 
are  still  standing.  From  this  point  we  entered  the  new  portion 
of  the  city,  which  wore  an  air  of  increasing  splendor  as  we  ad- 
vanced. The  appearance  of  the  Strand  and  Trafalgar  Square  is 
truly  magnificent.  Fancy  every  house  in  Broadway  a  store, 
all  built  of  light  granite,  the  Park  stripped  of  all  its  trees  and 
paved  with  granite,  and  a  lofty  column  in  the  centre,  double  the 
crowd  and  the  tumult  of  business,  and  you  will  have  some  idea 
of  the  view. 

It  was  a  relief  to  get  into  St.  James's  Park,  among  the  trees 
and  flowers  again.  Here,  beautiful  winding  walks  led  around 
little  lakes,  in  which  were  hundreds  of  water-fowl,  swimming. 
Groups  of  merry  children  were  sporting  on  the  green  lawn, 
enjoying  their  privilege  of  roaming  every  where  at  will,  while 
the  older  bipeds  were  confined  to  the  regular  walks.  At  the 
western  end  stood  Buckingliam  Palace,  looking  over  the  trees 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.  41 

towards  St.  Paul's ;  through  the  grove  on  the  eminence  above, 
the  towers  of  St.  James's  could  be  seen.  But  there  was  a  dim 
building,  with  two  lofty  square  towers,  decorated  with  a  profusion 
of  pointed  Gothic  pinnacles,  that  I  looked  at  with  more  interest 
than  these  appendages  of  royalty.  I  could  not  linger  long  in  its 
vicinity,  but  going  back  again  by  the  Horse  Guards,  took  the 
road  to  Westminster  Abbey. 

We  approached  by  the  general  entrance,  Poet's  Corner.  I 
hardly  stopped  to  look  at  the  elaborate  exterior  of  Henry  Vllth's 
Chapel,  but  passed  on  to  the  door.  On  entering,  the  first  thing 
that  met  my  eyes  were  the  words,  "  Oh  rare  Ben  Jonson," 
under  his  bust.  Near  by  stood  the  monuments  of  Spenser  and 
Gay,  and  a  few  paces  further  looked  down  the  sublime  counte- 
nance of  Milton.  Never  was  a  spot  so  full  of  intense  interest. 
The  light  was  just  dim  enough  to  give  it  a  solemn,  religious 
appearance,  making  the  marble  forms  of  poets  and  philosophers 
so  shadowy  and  impressive,  that  I  felt  as  if  standing  in  their  liv- 
ing presence.  Every  step  called  up  some  mind  linked  with  the 
associations  of  my  childhood.  There  was  the  gentle  feminine 
countenance  of  Thompson,  and  the  majestic  head  of  Dryden  ; 
Addison  with  his  classic  features,  and  Gray,  full  of  the  fire  of 
lofty  thought.  In  another  chamber,  I  paused  long  before  the 
ashes  of  Shakspeare ;  and  while  looking  at  the  monument  of 
Garrick,  started  to  find  that  I  stood  upon  his  grave.  What  a 
glorious  galaxy  of  genius  is  here  collected — what  a  constellation 
of  stars  whose  light  is  immortal !  The  mind  is  completely  fet- 
tered by  their  spirit.  Everything  is  forgotten  but  the  mighty 
dead,  who  still  "  rule  us  from  their  urns." 

The  Chapel  of  Henry  VII.,  which  we  next  entered,  is  one  of 
the  most  elaborate  specimens  of  Gothic  workmanship  in  the 
world.  If  the  first  idea  of  the  Gothic  arch  sprung  from  observ- 
ing the  forms  of  trees,  this  chapel  must  resemble  the  first  concep- 
tions of  that  order,  for  the  fluted  columns  rise  up  like  tall  trees, 
branching  out  at  the  top  into  spreading  capitals  covered  with 
leaves,  and  supporting  arches  of  the  ceiling  resembling  a  leafy 
roof. 

The  side-chapels  are  filled  with  tombs  of  knightly  families,  the 
husband  and  wife  lying  on  their  backs  on  the  tombs,  with  their 


42  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


hands  clasped,  while  their  children,  about  the  size  of  dolls,  are 
kneeling  around.  Numberless  are  the  Barons  and  Earls  and 
Dukes,  whose  grim  effigies  stare  from  their  tombs.  In  opposite 
chapels  are  the  tombs  of  Mary  and  Elizabeth,  and  near  the  for- 
mer that  of  Darnley.  After  having  visited  many  of  the  scenes 
of  her  life,  it  was  with  no  ordinary  emotion  that  I  stood  by  the 
sepulchre  of  Mary.  How  differently  one  looks  upon  it  and 
upon  that  of  the  proud  Elizabeth  ! 

We  descended  to  the  Chapel  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  within 
tne  splendid  shrine  of  which  repose  his  ashes.  Here  we  were 
shown  the  chair  on  which  the  English  monarchs  have  been 
crowned  for  several  hundred  years.  Under  the  seat  is  the  stone, 
brought  from  the  Abbey  of  Scone,  whereon  the  Kings  of  Scot- 
land were  crowned.  The  chair  is  of  oak,  carved  and  hacked 
over  with  names,  and  on  the  bottom  some  one  has  recorded  his 
name  with  the  fact  that  he  once  slept  in  it.  We  sat  down  and 
rested  in  it  without  ceremony.  Passing  along  an  aisle  leading  to 
the  grand  hall,  we  saw  the  tomb  of  Aymer  de  Valence,  a  knight 
of  the  Crusades.  Near  here  is  the  hall  where  the  Knights  of 
the  order  of  Bath  met.  Over  each  seat  their  dusty  banners  are 
still  hanging,  each  with  its  crest,  and  their  armor  is  rusting 
upon  the  wall.  It  seemed  like  a  banqueting  hall  of  the  olden 
time,  where  the  knights  had  left  their  seats  for  a  moment  vacant. 
Entering  the  nave,  we  were  lost  in  the  wilderness  of  sculpture. 
Here  stood  the  forms  of  Pitt,  Fox,  Burke,  Sheridan  and  Watts, 
from  the  chisels  of  Chantry,  Bacon  and  Westmacott.  Further 
down  were  Sir  Isaac  Newton  and  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller — opposite 
Andre,  and  Paoli,  the  Italian,  who  died  here  in  exile.  How  can 
t  convey  an  idea  of  the  scene  ?  Notwithstanding  all  the  descrip- 
tions I  had  read,  I  was  totally  unprepared  for  the  reality,  nor 
could  I  have  anticipated  the  hushed  and  breathless  interest  with 
which  I  paced  the  dim  aisles,  gazing,  at  every  step,  on  the  last 
resting  place  of  some  great  and  familiar  name.  A  place  so 
sacred  to  all  who  inherit  the  English  tongue,  is  worthy  of  a  spe- 
cial pilgrimage  across  tlie  deep.  To  those  who  are  unable  to 
visit  it,  a  description  may  be  interesting  ;  but  so  far  does  it  fall 
short  of  the  scene  itself,  that  if  I  thought  it  would  induce  a  few 
of  our  wealthy  idlers,  or  even  those  who,  like  myself,  must  travel 


THE  NATIONAL  GALLERY.  43 

with  toil  and  privation  to  come  hither,  I  would  write  till  the  pen 
dropped  from  my  hand. 

More  than  twenty  grand  halls  of  the  British  Museum  are  de- 
voted  to  antiquities,  and  include  the  Elgin  Marbles — the  spoils  of 
the  Parthenon — the  Fellows  Marbles,  brought  from  the  ancient 
city  of  Xanthus,  and  Sir  William  Hamilton's  collection  of  Italian 
antiquities.  It  was  painful  to  see  the  friezes  of  the  Parthenon, 
broken  and  defaced  as  they  are,  in  such  a  place.  Rather  let 
them  moulder  to  dust  on  the  ruin  from  which  they  were  torn, 
shining  through  the  blue  veil  of  the  Grecian  atmosphere,  from  the 
summit  of  the  Acropolis  ! 

The  National  Gallery,  on  Trafalgar  Square,  is  open  four  days 
m  the  week,  to  the  public.  The  "  Raising  of  Lazarus,"  by  Se- 
bastian del  Piombo,  is  considered  the  gem  of  the  collection,  but 
my  unschooled  eyes  could  not  view  it  as  such.  It  is  also  remark- 
able for  having  been  transferred  from  wood  to  canvass,  without 
injury.  This  delicate  operation  was  accomplished  by  gluing  the 
panel  on  which  it  was  painted,  flat  on  a  smooth  table,  and  planing 
the  wood  gradually  away  till  the  coat  of  hardened  paint  alone 
remained.  A  proper  canvass  was  then  prepared,  covered  with  a 
strong  cement,  and  laid  on  the  back  of  the  picture,  which  adhered 
firmly  to  it.  The  owner's  nerves  must  have  had  a  severe  trial, 
if  he  had  courage  to  watch  the  operation.  I  was  enraptured  with 
Murillo's  pictures  of  St.  John  and  the  Holy  Family.  St.  John  is 
represented  as  a  boy  in  the  woods,  fondling  a  lamb.  It  is  a  glo- 
rious head.  The  dark  curls  cluster  around  his  fair  brow,  and 
his  eyes  seem  already  glowing  with  the  fire  of  future  inspiration. 
There  is  an  innocence,  a  childish  sweetness  of  expression  in  the 
countenance,  which  makes  one  love  to  gaze  upon  it.  Both  of 
these  paintings  were  constantly  surrounded  by  ladies,  and  they 
certainly  deserved  the  preference.  In  the  rooms  devoted  to  Eng- 
lish artists,  there  are  many  of  the  finest  works  of  West,  Reynolds, 
Hoo-arth  and  Wilkie. 

We  spent  a  day  in  visiting  the  lungs  of  London,  as  the  two 
grand  parks  have  been  called.     From  the  Strand  through  the 
Regent  Circus,  the  centre  of  the  fashionable  part  of  the  city, we 
passed  to  Piccadilly,  calling  on  our  way  to  see  our  old  friends, 
the  lowas.     They  were  at  the  Egyptian  Hall,  in  connexion  with 


44  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Catlin's  Indian  collection.  The  old  braves  knew  us  at  once, 
particularly  Blister  Feet,  who  used  often  to  walk  a  line  on  deck 
with  me,  at  sea.  Further  along  Piccadilly  is  Wellington's  man- 
sion of  Apsley  House,  and  nearly  opposite  it,  in  the  corner  of 
Hyde  Park,  stands  the  colossal  statue  of  Achilles,  cast  from  can- 
non taken  at  Salamanca  and  Vittoria.  The  Park  resembles  an 
open  common,  with  here  and  there  a  grove  of  trees,  intersected 
by  carriage  roads.  It  is  like  getting  into  the  country  again  to  be 
out  on  its  broad,  green  field,  with  the  city  seen  dimly  around 
through  the  smoky  atmosphere.  We  walked  for  a  mile  or  two 
along  the  shady  avenues  and  over  the  lawns,  having  a  view  of 
the  princely  terraces  and  gardens  on  one  hand,  and  the  gentle 
outline  of  Primrose  Hill  on  the  other.  Regent's  Park  itself  covers 
a  space  of  nearly  four  hundred  acres ! 

But  if  London  is  unsurpassed  in  splendor,  it  has  also  its  cor- 
responding share  of  crime.  Notwithstanding  the  large  and  effi- 
cient body  of  police,  who  do  much  towards  the  control  of  vice, 
one  sees  enough  of  degradation  and  brutality  in  a  short  time,  to 
make  his  heart  sick.  Even  the  public  thoroughfares  are  thronged 
at  night  with  characters  of  the  lowest  description,  and  it  is  not 
expedient  to  go  through  many  of  the  narrow  bye-haunts  of  the 
old  city  in  the  day-time.  The  police,  who  are  ever  on  the  watch, 
immediately  seize  and  carry  off  any  offender,  but  from  the  state- 
ments of  persons  who  have  had  an  opportunity  of  observing,  as 
well  as  from  my  own  slight  experience,  I  am  convinced  that  there 
is  an  untold  amount  of  misery  and  crime.  London  is  one  of  the 
wonders  of  the  world,  but  there  is  reason  to  believe  it  is  one  of 
the  curses  of  the  world  also;  though,  in  fact,  nothing  but  an  ac- 
tive and  unceasing  philanthropy  can  prevent  any  city  from  be- 
coming so. 

Aug.  22. — I  have  now  been  six  days  in  London,  and  by  mak- 
ing  good  use  of  my  feet  and  eyes,  have  managed  to  become  fa- 
miliar with  almost  every  object  of  interest  within  its  precincts. 
Having  a  plan  mapped  out  for  the  day,  I  started  from  my  humble 
lodgings  at  the  Aldgate  Coffee  House,  where  I  slept  off  fatigue  for 
a  shilling  a  night,  and  walked  up  Cheapside  or  down  White- 
chapel,  as  the  case  might  be,  hunting  out  my  way  to  churches, 
halls  and  theatres,     In  this  way,  at  a  trifling  expense,  I  have 


FAREWELL  TO   LONDON.  45 

perhaps  seen  as  much  as  many  who  spend  here  double  the  time 
and  ten  times  the  money.  Our  whole  tour  from  Liverpool  hither, 
by  way  of  Ireland  and  Scotland,  cost  us  but  twenty-five  dollars 
each  !  although,  except  in  one  or  two  cases,  we  denied  ourselves 
no  necessary  comfort.  This  shows  that  the  glorious  privilege  of 
looking  on  the  scenes  of  the  old  world  need  not  be  confined  to  peo- 
ple of  wealth  and  leisure.  It  may  be  enjoyed  by  all  who  can 
occasionally  forego  a  little  bodily  comfort  for  the  sake  of  mental 
and  spiritual  gain.  We  leave  this  afternoon  for  Dover.  To- 
morrow I  shall  dine  in  Belgium ! 


46  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


FLIGHT    THROUGH    BELGIUM. 


Bruges. — On  the  Continent  at  last!  How  strangely  look  the 
century-old  towers,  antique  monuments,  and  quaint,  narrow 
streets  of  the  Flemish  cities  !  It  is  an  agreeable  and  yet  a  pain- 
ful  sense  of  novelty  to  stand  for  the  first  time  in  the  midst  of  a 
people  whose  language  and  manners  are  different  from  one's  own. 
The  old  buildings  around,  linked  with  many  a  stirring  associa- 
tion of  past  history,  gratify  the  glowing  anticipations  with  which 
one  has  looked  forward  to  seeing  them,  and  the  fancy  is  busy  at 
work  reconciling  the  real  scene  with  the  ideal ;  but  the  want  of 
a  communication  with  the  living  world  about,  walls  one  up  with 
a  sense  of  loneliness  he  could  not  before  have  conceived.  I  envy 
the  children  in  the  streets  of  Bruges  their  childish  language. 

Yesterday  afternoon  we  came  from  London  through  the  green 
wooded  lawns  and  vales  of  England,  to  Dover,  which  we  reached 
at  sunset,  passing  by  a  long  tunnel  through  the  lofty  Shakspeare 
Cliff.  We  had  barely  time  before  it  grew  dark  to  ascend  the 
cliff.  The  glorious  coast  view  looked  still  wilder  in  the  gather- 
ing twilight,  which  soon  hid  from  our  sight  the  dim  hills  of 
France.  On  the  cliff  opposite  frowned  the  massive  battlements 
of  the  Castle,  guarding  the  town,  which  lay  in  a  nook  of  the  rocks 
below.  As  the  Ostend  boat  was  to  leave  at  four  in  the  morning, 
my  cousin  aroused  us  at  three,  and  we  felt  our  way  down  stairs 
in  the  dark.  But  the  landlord  was  reluctant  to  part  with  us ;  we 
stamped  and  shouted  and  rang  bells,  till  the  whole  house  was  in 
an  uproar,  for  the  door  was  double-locked,  and  the  steamboat 
bell  began  to  sound.  At  .last  he  could  stand  it  no  longer  ;  we 
gave  a  quick  utterance  to  our  overflowing  wrath,  and  rushed 
down  to  the  boat  but  a  second  or  two  before  it  left. 

The  water  of  the  Channel  was  smooth  as  glass  and  as  the  sun 


LANDING  AT   OSTEXD.  47 

rose,  the  far  chalky  cliffs  gleamed  along  the  horizon,  a  belt  of  fire. 
I  waved  a  good-bye  to  Old  England  and  then  turned  to  see  the 
spires  of  Dunkirk,  which  were  visible  in  the  distance  before  us. 
On  the  low  Belgian  coast  we  could  see  trees  and  steeples,  resem- 
bling  a  mirage  over  the  level  surface  of  the  sea  ;  at  length,  about 
ten  o'clock,  the  square  tower  of  Ostend  came  in  sight.  The 
boat  passed  into  a  long  muddy  basin,  in  which  many  unwieldy, 
red-sailed  Dutch  craft  were  lying,  and  stopped  beside  a  high  pier. 
Here  amid  the  confusion  of  three  lansfuao-es,  an  officer  came  on 
board  and  took  charge  of  our  passports  and  luggage.  As  we 
could  not  get  the  former  for  two  or  three  hours,  we  did  not  hurry 
the  passing  of  the  latter,  and  went  on  shore  quite  unincumbered, 
for  a  stroll  about  the  city,  disregarding  the  cries  of  the  hackney- 
coachmen  on  the  pier,  ^'  Hotel  d'Angleterre,''  *'  Hotel  des  Bains  f 
and  another  who  called  out  in  English,  "  I  recommend  you  to  the 
Royal  Hotel,  sir !" 

There  is  little  to  be  seen  in  Ostend.  We  wandered  through 
long  rows  of  plain  yellow  houses,  trying  to  read  the  French  nnd 
low  Dutch  signs,  and  at  last  came  out  on  the  wall  near  the  sea. 
A  soldier  motioned  us  back  as  we  attempted  to  ascend  it,  and  mut- 
tering some  unintelligible  words,  pointed  to  a  narrow  street  near. 
Following  this  out  of  curiosity,  we  crossed  the  moat  and  found 
ourselves  on  the  great  bathing  beach.  To  get  out  of  the  hands  of 
the  servants  who  immediately  surrounded  us,  we  jumped  into 
one  of  the  little  wagons  and  were  driven  out  into  the  surf. 

To  be  certain  of  fulfilling  the  railroad  regulations,  we  took  our 
seats  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  time.  The  dark  walls  of  Os- 
tend soon  vanished  and  we  were  whirled  rapidly  over  a  country 
perfectly  level,  but  highly  fertile  and  well  cultivated.  Occasion, 
ally  there  was  a  ditch  or  row  of  trees,  but  otherwise  there  was  no 
division  between  the  fields,  and  the  plain  stretched  unbroken  away 
into  the  distance.  The  twenty  miles  to  Bruges  we  made  in  forty 
minutes.  The  streets  of  this  antique  city  are  narrow  and  crook- 
ed, and  the  pointed,  ornamented  gables  of  the  houses,  produce  a 
novel  impression  on  one  who  has  been  accustomed  to  the  green 
American  forests.  Then  there  was  the  endless  sound  of  wooden 
shoes  clattering  over  the  rough  pavements,  and  people  talking  in 
that  most  unmusical  of  all  languages,  low  Dutch.     Walking  at 


48  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


random  through  the  streets,  we  came  by  chance  upon  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Notre  Dame.  I  shall  long  remember  my  first  impression 
of  the  scene  within.  The  lofty  gothic  ceiling  arched  far  above 
my  head  and  through  the  stained  windows  the  light  came  but 
dimly — it  was  all  still,  solemn  and  religious.  A  few  worshippers 
were  kneeling  in  silence  before  some  of  the  shrines  and  the  echo 
of  my  tread  seemed  like  a  profaning  sound.  On  every  side  were 
pictures,  saints  and  gilded  shrines.  A  few  steps  removed  one 
from  the  bustle  and  din  of  the  crowd  to  the  stillness  and  solemnity 
of  the  holy  retreat. 

We  learned  from  the  guide,  whom  we  had  engaged  because  he 
spoke  a  few  words  of  English,  that  there  was  still  a  trecksliuyt  line 
on  the  canals,  and  that  one  boat  leaves  to-night  at  ten  o'clock  for 
Ghent.  Wishing  to  try  this  old  Dutch  method  of  travelling,  he 
took  us  about  half  a  mile  along  the  Ghent  road  to  the  canal, 
where  a  moderate  sized  boat  was  lying.  Our  baggage  deposited 
in  the  plainly  furnished  cabin,  I  ran  back  to  Bruges,  although  it 
was  beginning  to  grow  dark,  to  get  a  sight  of  the  belfry  ;  for 
Longfellow's  lines  had  been  running  through  my  head  all  day  : 

"  In  the  market  place  of  Bruges,  stands  tlie  belfry  old  and  brown, 
Thrice  consumed  and  thrice  rebuilded.  still  it  watches  o'er  the  town.'' 

And  having  found  the  square,  brown  tower  in  one  corner  of 
the  open  market  square,  we  waited  to  hear  the  chimes,  which  are 
said  to  be  the  finest  in  Europe.  They  rang  out  at  last  with  a 
clear  silvery  tone,  most  beautifully  musical  indeed.  We  then 
returned  to  the  boat  in  the  twilight.  We  were  to  leave  in  about 
an  hour,  according  to  the  arrangement,  but  as  yet  there  was  no 
sound  to  be  heard,  and  we  weie  the  only  tenants.  However, 
trusting  to  Dutch  regularity,  we  went  to  sleep  in  the  full  confi- 
dence of  awakening  in  Ghent. 

1  awoke  once  in  the  night  and  saw  the  dark  branches  of  trees 
passing  before  the  window,  but  there  was  no  perceptible  sound 
nor  motion  ;  the  boat  glided  along  like  a  dream,  and  we  were 
awakened  next  morning  by  its  striking  against  the  pier  at  Ghent. 
After  paying  three  francs  for  the  whole  night  journey,  the  captain 
gave  us  a  guide  to  the  railroad  station,  and  as  we  had  nearly  an 
hour  before  the  train  left,  I  went  to  see  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Bavon. 


RAILROAD  TRAVELLING.  49 

.^-^■■i  I    I  ■■  I— ■—  ■  ■ ■■    ■■"■  —  .11. —  -- -    -  _ 

After  leaving  Ghent,  the  road  passes  through  a  beautiful  country, 
cultivated  like  a  garden.  The  Dutch  passion  for  flowers  is  dis- 
played in  the  gardens  around  the  cottages  ;  even  every  vacant 
foot  of  ground  along  the  railway  is  planted  with  roses  and  dahlias. 
At  Ghent,  the  morning  being  fair,  we  took  seats  in  the  open  cars. 
About  noon  it  commenced  raining  and  our  situation  was  soon 
anything  but  comfortable.  My  cousin  had  fortunately  a  water- 
proof Indian  blanket  with  him,  which  he  had  purchased  in  the 
'•  Far  West,"  and  by  wrapping  this  around  all  three  of  us,  we 
kept  partly  dry.  I  was  much  amused  at  the  plight  of  a  party  of 
young  Englishmen,  who  were  in  the  same  car ;  one  of  them  held 
a  little  parasol  which  just  covered  his  hat,  and  sent  the  water  in 
streams  down  on  his  back  and  shoulders. 

We  had  a  misty  view  of  Liege,  through  the  torrents  of  rain, 
and  then  dashed  away  into  the  wild,  mountain  scenery  of  the 
Meuse.  Steep,  rocky  hills,  covered  with  pine  and  crowned  with 
ruined  towers,  hemmed  in  the  winding  and  swollen  river,  and  the 
wet,  cloudy  sky  seemed  to  rest  like  a  canopy  on  their  summits. 
Instead  of  threading  their  mazy  defiles,  we  plunged  directly  into 
the  mountain's  heart,  flew  over  the  narrow  valley  on  lofty  and 
light-sprung  arches,  and  went  again  into  the  darknes.  At  Ver- 
viers,  our  baggage  was  weighed,  examined  and  transferred,  with 
ourselves,  to  a  Prussian  train.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  dis- 
puting on  the  occasion.  A  lady,  who  had  a  dog  in  a  large  wil- 
low basket,  was  not  allowed  to  retain  it,  nor  would  they  take  it 
as  baggage.  The  matter  was  finally  compromised  by  their 
sending  the  basket,  obliging  her  to  carry  the  dog,  which  was 
none  of  the  smallest,  in  her  arms  !  The  next  station  bore  the 
sign  of  the  black  eagle,  and  here  our  passports  were  obliged  to 
be  given  up.  Advancing  through  long  ranges  of  wooded  hills, 
we  saw  at  length,  in  the  dull  twilight  of  a  rainy  day,  the  old 
kingly  city  of  Aix  la  Chapelle  on  a  plain  below  us.  After  a 
scene  at  the  custom-house,  where  our  baggage  was  reclaimed 
with  tickets  given  at  Verviers,  we  drove  to  the  Hotel  du  RhiUj 
and  while  warming  our  shivering  limbs  and  drying  our  damp 
garments,  felt  tempted  to  exclaim  with  the  old  Italian  author: 
"  O  !  holy  and  miraculous  tavern  !" 

The  Cathedral  with  its  lofty  Gothic  tower,  was  built  by  the 
4 


60  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


emperor  Otho  in  the  tenth  century.  It  seems  at  present  to  be 
undergoing  repairs,  for  a  large  scaffold  shut  out  the  dome.  The 
long  hall  was  dim  with  incense  smoke  as  we  entered,  and  the 
organ  sounded  through  the  high  arches  with  an  effect  that  startled 
me.  The  windows  glowed  with  the  forms  of  kings  and  saints, 
and  the  dusty  and  mouldering  shrines  which  rose  around  were 
colored  with  the  light  that  came  through.  The  music  pealed  out 
like  a  triumphal  march,  sinking  at  times  into  a  mournful  strain, 
as  if  it  celebrated  and  lamented  the  heroes  who  slept  below.  In 
the  stone  pavement  nearly  under  my  feet  was  a  large  square 
marble  slab,  with  words  •'  Carolo  Magno."  It  was  like  a  dream, 
to  stand  there  on  the  tomb  of  the  mighty  warrior,  with  the  lofty 
arches  of  the  Cathedral  above,  filled  with  the  sound  of  the  divine 
anthem.  I  mused  above  his  ashes  till  the  music  ceased  and  then 
left  the  Cathedral,  that  nothing  might  break  the  romantic  spell 
associated  with  that  crumbling  pile  and  the  dead  it  covered.  I 
have  always  revered  the  memory  of  Charlemagne.  He  lived  in 
a  stern  age,  but  he  was  in  mind  and  heart  a  man,  and  like  Na- 
poleon, who  placed  the  iron  crown  which  had  lain  with  him  cen- 
turies in  the  tomb,  upon  his  own  brow,  he  had  an  Alpine  gran- 
deur of  mind,  which  the  world  was  forced  to  acknowledge. 

At  noon  we  took  the  chars-d-banc,  or  second-class  carriages, 
for  fear  of  rain,  and  continued  our  journey  over  a  plain  dotted 
with  villages  and  old  chateaux.  Two  or  three  miles  from  Co- 
logne we  saw  the  spires  of  the  different  churches,  conspicuous 
among  which  were  the  unfinished  towers  of  the  Cathedral,  with 
the  enormous  crane  standing  as  it  did  when  they  left  off  build- 
ing, two  hundred  years  ago  or  more.  On  arriving,  we  drove  to 
the  Bonn  railway,  where  finding  the  last  train  did  not  leave  for 
four  hours,  we  left  our  baggage  and  set  out  for  the  Cathedral. 
Of  all  Gothic  buildings,  the  plan  of  this  is  certainly  the  most 
stupendous  ;  even  ruin  as  it  is,  it  cannot  fail  to  excite  suprise 
and  admiration.  The  King  of  Prussia  has  undertaken  to  com- 
plete it  according  to  the  original  plan,  which  was  lately  found  in 
the  possession  of  a  poor  man,  of  whom  it  was  purchased  for 
40,000  florins,  but  he  has  not  yet  finished  repairing  what  is 
already  built.  The  legend  concerning  this  plan  may  not  be 
known  to  every  one.     It  is  related  of  the  inventor  of  it,  that  in 


COLOGNE   CATHEDRAL.  51 

^  '  ■■■■■■-.  -  ■    -  .  ■■-.■■  I  ..  ■  ■     ,  -., 

despair  of  finding  any  sufficiently  great,  he  was  walking  one  day 
by  the  river,  sketching  with  his  stick  upon  the  sand,  when  he 
finally  hit  upon  one  which  pleased  him  so  much  that  he  exclaim- 
ed :  "  This  shall  be  the  plan  !"  "  I  will  show  you  a  better  one 
than  that !"  said  a  voice  suddenly  behind  him,  and  a  certain 
black  gentleman  who  figures  in  all  German  legends  stood  by  him, 
and  pulled  from  his  pocket  a  roll  containing  the  present  plan  of 
the  Cathedral.  The  architect,  amazed  at  its  grandeur,  asked  an 
explanation  of  every  part.  As  he  knew  his  soul  was  to  be  the 
price  of  it,  he  occupied  himself  while  the  devil  was  explaining, 
in  committing  its  proportions  carefully  to  memory.  Having  done 
this,  he  remarked  that  it  did  not  please  him  and  he  would  not 
take  it.  The  devil,  seeing  through  the  cheat,  exclaimed  in  his 
rage  :  "  You  may  build  your  Cathedral  according  to  this  plan, 
but  you  shall  never  finish  it !"  This  prediction  seems  likely  to 
be  verified,  for  though  it  was  commenced  in  1248,  and  built  for 
250  years,  only  the  choir  and  nave  and  one  tower  to  half  its 
oricrinai  heio-ht,  are  finished. 

We  visited  the  chapel  of  the  eleven  thousand  virgins,  the  walls 
of  which  are  full  of  curious  grated  cells,  containing  their  bones, 
and  then  threaded  the  narrow  streets  of  Cologne,  which  are  quite 
dirty  enough  to  justify  Coleridge's  lines  : 

"  The  river  Rhine,  it  is  well  known 
Doth  wash  the  city  of  Cologne; 
But  tell  me  nymphs,  what  power  divine 
Shall  henceforth  wash  the  river  Rhine !" 


52  VIEWS   A-FOOT 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


THE    RHINE    TO    HEIDELBERG. 


Heidelberg,  August  30. 

Here  at  last !  and  a  most  glorious  place  it  is.  This  is  our  first 
morning  in  our  new  rooms,  and  the  sun  streams  warmly  in  the 
eastern  windows,  as  I  write,  while  the  old  castle  rises  through 
the  blue  vapor  on  the  side  of  the  Kaiser-stuhl.  The  Neckar 
rushes  on  below ;  and  the  Odenwald,  before  me,  rejoices  with  its 
vineyards  in  the  morning  light.  The  bells  of  the  old  chapel 
near  us  are  sounding  most  musically,  and  a  confused  sound  of 
voices  and  the  rolling  of  vehicles  comes  up  from  the  street.  It  is 
a  place  to  live  in  ! 

I  must  go  back  five  or  six  days  and  take  up  the  record  of  our 
journeyings  at  Bonn.  We  had  been  looking  over  Murray's  in- 
fallible "Handbook,"  and  observed  that  he  recommended  the 
"  Star"  hotel  in  that  city,  as  "  the  most  moderate  in  its  prices  of 
any  on  the  Rhine ;"  so  when  the  train  from  Cologne  arrived  and 
we  were  surrounded,  in  the  darkness  and  confusion,  by  porters 
and  valets,  I  sung  out:  '^  Hotel  de  VEioile  d^or  f^'  our  baggage 
and  ourselves  were  transferred  to  a  stylish  omnibus,  and  in  five 
minutes  we  stopped  under  a  brilliantly-lighted  archway,  where  Mr. 
Joseph  Schmidt  received  us  with  the  usual  number  of  smiles  and 
bows  bestowed  upon  untitled  guests.  We  were  furnished  with 
neat  rooms  in  the  summit  of  the  house,  and  then  descended  to 
the  salle  a  manger.  I  found  a  folded  note  by  my  plate,  which  I 
opened — it  contained  an  engraving  of  the  front  of  the  hotel,  a  plan 
of  the  city  and  catalogue  of  its  lions,  together  with  a  list  of  the 
titled  personages  who  have,  from  time  to  time,  honored  the 
"  Golden  Star  "  with  their  custom.  Among  this  number  were 
"  Their  Royal  Highnesses  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cambridge, 
Prince  Albert,"  etc      Had  it  not  been  for  fatigue,  I  should  have. 


THE  RHINE.  53 


spent  an  uneasy  night,  thinking  of  the  heavy  bill  which  was  to 
be  presented  on  the  morrow.  We  escaped,  however,  for  seven 
francs  apiece,  three  of  which  were  undoubtedly  for  the  honor  of 
breathing  an  aristocratic  atmosphere. 

I  was  glad  when  we  were  really  in  motion  on  the  swift  Rhine, 
the  next  morning,  and  nearing  the  chain  of  mountains  that  rose 
up  before  us.  We  passed  Godesberg  on  the  right,  while  on  our 
left  was  the  group  of  the  seven  mountains  which  extend  back 
from  the  Drachenfels  to  the  Wolkenberg,  or  Castle  of  the  Clouds. 
Here  we  begin  to  enter  the  enchanted  land.  The  Rhine  sweeps 
around  the  foot  of  the  Drachenfels,  while  opposite  the  precipilou? 
rock  of  Rolandseck,  crowned  with  the  castle  of  the  faithful  knight, 
looks  down  upon  the  beautiful  Island  of  Nonnenwerth,  the  white 
walls  of  the  convent  still  gleaming  through  the  trees,  as  they  did 
when  the  warrior's  weary  eyes  looked  upon  them  for  the  last 
time.  I  shall  never  forget  the  enthusiasm  with  which  I  saw  this 
scene  in  the  bright,  warm  sunlight,  the  rough  crags  softened  in 
the  haze  which  filled  the  atmosphere,  and  the  wild  mountains 
springing  up  in  the  midst  of  vineyards,  and  crowned  with  crum- 
bling towers,  filled  with  the  memories  of  a  thousand  years. 

After  passing  Andernach,  we  saw  in  the  distance  the  highlands 
of  the  middle  Rhine,  which  rise  above  Coblcntz,  guarding  the  en- 
trance to  its  wild  scenery,  and  the  mountains  of  the  Moselle. 
They  parted  as  we  approached  ;  from  the  foot  shot  up  the  spires 
of  Coblentz,  and  the  battlements  of  Ehrenbreitstein  crowning  the 
mountain  opposite,  grew  larger  and  broader.  The  air  was 
slightly  hazy,  and  the  clouds  seemed  laboring  among  the  distant 
mountains  to  raise  a  storm.  As  we  came  opposite  the  mouth  of  the 
Moselle  and  under  the  shadow  of  the  mighty  fortress,  I  gazed  up 
with  awe  at  its  massive  walls.  Apart  from  its  magnitude  and 
almost  impregnable  situation  on  a  perpendicular  rock,  it  is  filled 
with  the  recollections  of  history  and  hallowed  by  the  voice  of 
poetry.  The  scene  went  past  like  a  panorama,  the  bridge  of 
boats  opened,  the  city  glided  behind  us  and  we  entered  the  high- 
lands again. 

Above  Coblentz  almost  every  mountain  has  a  ruin  and  a  legend. 
One  feels  everywhere  the  spirit  of  the  past,  and  its  stirring  recol- 
lections come  back  upon  the  mind  with  irresistible  force.     I  sat 


54  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


upon  the  deck  the  whole  afternoon,  as  mountains,  towns  and  cas- 
tles passed  by  on  either  side,  watching  them  with  a  feeling  of  the 
most  enthusiastic  enjoyment.  Every  place  was  familiar  to  me  in 
memory,  and  they  seemed  like  friends  I  had  long  communed  with 
in  spirit  and  now  met  face  to  face.  The  English  tourists,  with 
whom  the  deck  was  covered,  seemed  interested  too,  but  in  a  dif- 
ferent manner.  With  Murray's  Handbook  open  in  their  hands, 
they  sat  and  read  about  the  very  towns  and  towers  they  were 
passing,  scarcely  lifting  their  eyes  to  the  real  scenes,  except  now 
and  then,  to  observe  that  it  was  "wer//  mce." 

As  we  passed  Boppart,  I  sought  out  the  Inn  of  the  "  Star," 
mentioned  in  "  Hyperion'^ ;  there  was  a  maiden  sitting  on  the 
steps  who  might  have  been  Paul  Flemming's  fair  boat-woman. 
The  clouds  which  had  here  gathered  among  the  hills,  now  came 
over  the  river,  and  the  rain  cleared  the  deck  of  its  crowd  of 
admiring  tourists.  As  we  were  approaching  Lurlei  Berg,  I  did 
not  go  below,  and  so  enjoyed  some  of  the  finest  scenery  on  the 
Rhine  alone.  The  mountains  approach  each  other  at  this  point, 
and  the  Lurlei  Rock  rises  up  for  six  hundred  feet  from  the 
water.  This  is  the  haunt  of  the  water  nymph,  Lurlei,  whose 
song  charmed  the  ear  of  the  boatman  while  his  barque  was 
dashed  to  pieces  on  the  rocks  below.  It  is  also  celebrated  for  its 
remarkable  echo.  As  we  passed  between  the  rocks,  a  guard, 
who  has  a  little  house  built  on  the  road-side,  blew  a  flourish  on 
his  bugle,  which  was  instantly  answered  by  a  blast  from  the 
rocky  battlements  of  Lurlei.  The  German  students  have  a  witty 
trick  with  this  echo  :  they  call  out,  "  Who  is  the  Burgomaster  of 
Oberwesel  ?"  a  town  just  above.  The  echo  answers  with  the 
last  syllable  "  Esel !"  which  is  the  German  for  ass. 

The  sun  came  out  of  the  cloud  as  we  passed  Oberwesel,  with 
its  tall  round  tower,  and  the  light  shining  through  the  ruined 
arches  of  Schonberg  castle,  made  broad  bars  of  light  and  shade 
in  the  still  misty  air.  A  rainbow  sprang  up  out  of  the  Rhine,  and 
lay  brightly  on  the  mountain  side,  coloring  vineyard  and  crag,  in 
the  most  singular  beauty,  while  its  second  reflection  faintly 
arched  like  a  glory  above  the  high  summits.  In  the  bed  of  the 
river  were  the  seven  countesses  of  Schonberg,  turned  into  seven 
rocks  for  their  cruelty  and  hard-heartedness  towards  the  knights 


FRANKFORT.  56 


whom  their  beauty  had  made  captive.  In  front,  at  a  little  dis- 
tance was  the  castle  of  Pfalz,  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  and  from 
the  heights  above  Caub  frowned  the  crumbling  citadel  of  Guten- 
fels.  Imagine  all  this,  and  tell  me  if  it  is  not  a  picture  whose 
memory  should  last  a  life-time  ! 

We  came  at  last  to  Bingen,  the  southern  gate  of  the  Highlands. 
Here,  on  an  island  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  is  the  old  Mouse 
tower  where  Bishop  Hatto  of  Mayence  was  eaten  up  by  the  rats 
for  his  wicked  deeds.  Passing  Rudesheim  and  Geissenheira, 
celebrated  for  their  wines,  at  sunset,  we  watched  the  varied 
shore  in  the  growing  darkness,  till  like  a  line  of  stars  across  the 
water,  we  saw  before  us  the  bridge  of  Mayence. 

The  next  morning  I  parted  from  my  friends,  who  were  going 
to  Heidelberg  by  way  of  Mannheim,  and  set  out  alone  for  Frank- 
fort. The  cars  passed  through  Hochheim,  whose  wines  are  cele- 
brated all  over  the  world  ;  there  is  little  to  interest  the  traveler 
till  he  arrives  at  Frankfort,  whose  spires  are  seen  rising  from 
groves  of  trees  as  he  approaches.  I  left  the  cars,  unchallenged 
for  my  passport,  greatly  to  my  surprise,  as  it  had  cost  me  a  long 
walk  and  five  shillings  in  London,  to  get  the  signature  of  the 
Frankfort  Consul.  I  learned  afterwards  it  was  not  at  all  neces- 
sary. Before  leaving  America,  N.  P.  Willis  had  kindly  given 
me  a  letter  to  his  brother,  Richard  S.  Willis,  who  is  now  culti- 
vating a  naturally  fine  taste  for  music  in  Frankfort,  and  my  first 
care  was  to  find  the  American  Consul,  in  order  to  learn  his  resi- 
dence. I  discovered  at  last,  from  a  gentleman  who  spoke  a  little 
French,  that  the  Consul's  office  was  in  the  street  Bellevue,  which 
street  I  not  only  looked  for  through  the  city,  but  crossed  over  the 
bridge  to  the  suburb  of  Sachsenhausen,  and  traversed  its  narrow, 
dirty  alleys  three  several  times,  but  in  vain.  I  was  about  giving 
up  the  search,  when  I  stumbled  upon  the  office  accidentally.  The 
name  of  the  street  had  been  given  to  me  in  French  and  very 
naturally  it  was  not  to  be  found.  Willis  received  me  very 
kindly  and  introduced  me  to  the  amiable  German  family  with 
whom  he  resides. 

After  spending  a  delightful  evening  with  my  newly-found 
friends,  I  left  the  next  morning  in  the  omnibus  for  Fleidelberg. 
We  passed  through   Sachsenhausen  ar.d  ascended   a  long  hill  to 


96  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  watch-tower,  whence  there  is  a  beautiful  view  of  the  Main 
valley.  Four  hours'  driving  over  the  monotonous  plain,  brought 
me  to  Darmstadt.  The  city  wore  a  gay  look,  left  by  the  recent 
files.  The  monument  of  the  old  Duke  Ludwig  had  just  been 
erected  in  the  centre  of  the  great  square,  and  the  festival  attend- 
ant upon  the  unveiling  of  it,  which  lasted  three  days,  had  just 
closed.  The  city  was  hung  with  garlands,  and  the  square  filled 
with  the  pavilions  of  the  royal  family  and  the  musicians,  of 
whom  there  were  a  thousand  present,  while  everywhere  were 
seen  red  and  white  flags — the  colors  of  Darmstadt.  We  met 
wagons  decorated  with  garlands,  full  of  pleasant  ,'girls,  in  the 
odd  dress  which  they  have  worn  for  three  hundred  years. 

After  leaving  Darmstadt  we  entered  upon  the  Bergstrasse,  or 
Mountain-way,  leading  along  the  foot  of  the  mountain  chain 
which  extends  all  the  way  to  Heidelberg  on  the  left,  while  on  the 
right  stretches  far  away  the  Rhine-plain,  across  which  we  saw 
the  dim  outline  of  the  Donnersberg,  in  France.  The  hills  are 
crowned  with  castles  and  their  sides  loaded  with  vines;  along 
the  road  the  rich  green  foliage  of  the  walnut  trees  arched  and 
nearly  met  above  us.  The  sun  shone  warm  and  bright,  and 
every  body  appeared  busy  and  contented  and  happy.  All  we 
met  had  smiling  countenances.  In  some  places  we  saw  whole 
families  sitting  under  the  trees  shelling  the  nuts  they  had  beaten 
down,  while  others  were  returning  from  the  vineyards,  laden  with 
baskets  of  purple  and  white  grapes.  The  scene  seemed  to  real- 
ize all  I  had  read  of  the  happiness  of  the  German  peasantry, 
and  the  pastoral  beauty  of  the  German  plains. 

With  the  passengers  in  the  omnibus  I  could  hold  little  conver- 
sation. One,  who  knew  about  as  much  French  as  I  did,  asked 
me  where  I  came  from,  and  I  shall  not  soon  forget  his  expression 
of  incredulity,  as  I  mentioned  America.  "  Why,"  said  he,  "you 
are  white — the  Americans  are  all  black  ! " 

We  passed  the  ruined  castles  of  Auerback  and  Starkenburg, 
and  Burg  Windeck,  on  the  summit  of  a  mountain  near  Wein- 
heim,  formerly  one  of  the  royal  residences  of  Charlemagne,  and 
finally  came  to  the  Heiligenberg  or  Holy  Mountain,  guarding  the 
entrance  into  the  Odenwald  by  the  valley  of  the  Neckar.  As  we 
wound  around  its  base  to  the  river,  the  Kaiserstuhl  rose  before  us, 


ARRIVAL  AT  HEIDELBERG.  »7 

with  the  mighty  castle  hanging  upon  its  side  and  Heidelberg  at 
its  feet.  It  was  a  most  strikingly  beautiful  scene,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment I  felt  inclined  to  assent  to  the  remark  of  my  bad-French 
acquaintance — "  America  is  not  beautiful — Heidelberg  is  beauti- 
ful !"  The  sun  had  just  set  as  we  turned  the  corner  of  the  Holy 
Mountain  and  drove  up  the  bank  of  the  Neckar  ;  all  the  chimes 
of  Heidelberg  began  suddenly  to  ring  and  a  cannon  by  the  river- 
side was  fired  off  every  minute — the  sound  echoing  five  times 
distinctly  from  mountain  back  to  mountain,  and  finally  crashing 
far  off,  alonsr  the  distant  hills  of  the  Odenwald.  It  was  the  birth- 
day  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Baden,  and  these  rejoicings  were  for 
the  closing  fHe. 


58  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

SCENES    IN    AND    AROUND    HEIDELBERG. 

Sejpt,  30. — There  is  so  much  to  be  seen  around  this  beautiful 
place,  that  I  scarcely  know  where  to  begin  a  description  of  it.  I 
have  been  wandering  among  the  wild  paths  that  lead  up  and  down 
the  mountain  side,  or  away  into  the  forests  and  lonely  meadows 
in  the  lap  of  the  Odenwald.  My  mind  is  filled  with  images  of 
the  romantic  German  scenery,  whose  real  beauty  is  beginning  to 
displace  the  imaginary  picture  which  I  had  painted  with  the  en- 
thusiastic words  of  Howitt.  I  seem  to  stand  now  upon  the  Kai- 
ser-stuhl,  which  rises  above  Heidelberg,  with  that  magnificent 
landscape  around  me,  from  the  Black  Forest  and  Strasburg  to 
Mainz,  and  from  the  Vosges  in  France  to  the  hills  of  Spessart  in 
Bavaria.  What  a  glorious  panorama  !  and  not  less  rich  in  asso- 
ciations than  in  its  natural  beauty.  Below  me  had  moved  the 
barbarian  hordes  of  old,  the  triumphant  followers  of  Arminius, 
and  the  Cohorts  of  Rome  ;  and  later,  full  many  a  warlike  host 
bearing  the  banners  of  the  red  cross  to  the  Holy  Land, — many  a 
knight  returning  with  his  vassals  from  the  field,  to  lay  at  the  feet 
of  his  lady-love  the  scarf  he  had  worn  in  a  hundred  battles  and 
claim  the  reward  of  his  constancy  and  devotion.  But  brighter 
spirits  had  also  toiled  below.  That  plain  had  witnessed  the  pres- 
ence of  Luther,  and  a  ho^t  who  strove  with  him  to  free  the  world 
from  the  chains  of  a  corrupt  and  oppressive  religion.  There  had 
also  trodden  the  master  spirits  of  German  song — the  giant  twain, 
with  their  scarcely  less  harmonious  brethren  :  they,  too,  had 
gathered  inspiration  from  those  scenes — more  fervent  worship  of 
nature  and  a  deeper  love  for  their  beautiful  fatherland !  Oh  ! 
what  waves  of  crime  and  bloodshed  have  swept  like  the  waves 
of  a  deluge  down  the  valley  of  the  Rhine  !  War  has  laid  his 
mailed  hand  on  those  desolate  towers  and  ruthlessly  torn  down 


THE  WOLFSBRUNNEN.  50 

what  time  has  spared,  yet  he  could  not  mar  the  beauty  of  the 
shore,  nor  could  Time  himse.f  hurl  down  the  mountains  that 
guard  it.  And  what  if  I  feel  a  new  inspiration  on  beholding  the 
scene  ?  Now  that  those  ages  have  swept  by,  like  the  red  waves 
of  a  tide  of  blood,  we  see  not  the  darkened  earth,  but  the  golden 
sands  which  the  flood  has  left  behind.  Besides,  I  have  come  from 
a  new  world,  where  the  spirit  of  man  is  untrammeled  by  the 
mouldering  shackles  of  the  past,  but  in  its  youthful  and  joyous 
freedom,  goes  on  to  make  itself  a  noble  memory  for  the  ages 
that  are  to  come ! 

Then  there  is  the  Wolfsbrunnen,  which  one  reaches  by  a  beau- 
tiful walk  up  the  bank  of  the  Neckar,  to  a  quiet  dell  in  the  side 
of  the  mountain.  Through  this  the  roads  lead  up  by  rustic  mills, 
always  in  motion,  and  orchards  laden  with  ripening  fruit,  to  the 
commencement  of  the  forest,  where  a  quaint  stone  fountain  stands, 
commemorating  the  abode  of  a  sorceress  of  the  olden  time,  who 
was  torn  in  pieces  by  a  wolf.  There  is  a  handsome  rustic  inn 
here,  where  every  Sunday  afternoon  a  band  plays  in  the  portico, 
while  hundreds  of  people  are  scattered  around  in  the  cool  shadow 
of  the  trees,  or  feeding  the  splendid  trout  in  the  basin  formed  by 
the  little  stream.  They  generally  return  to  the  city  by  another 
walk  leading  along  the  mountain  side,  to  the  eastern  terrace  of  the 
castle,  where  they  have  fine  views  of  the  great  Rhine  plain,  ter- 
minated by  the  Alsatian  hills,  stretching  along  the  western  hori- 
zon like  the  long  crested  swells  on  the  ocean.  We  can  even  see 
these  from  the  windows  of  our  room  on  the  bank  of  the  Neckar ; 
and  I  often  look  with  interest  on  one  sharp  peak,  for  on  its  side 
stands  the  Castle  of  Trifels,  where  Cceur  de  Lion  was  imprisoned 
by  the  Duke  of  Austria,  and  where  Blondel,  his  faithful  minstrel, 
sang  the  ballad  which  discovered  the  retreat  of  the  noble  cap- 
tive. 

The  people  of  Heidelberg  are  rich  in  places  of  pleasure  and 
amusement.  From  the  Carl  Platz,  an  open  square  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  city,  two  paths  lead  directly  up  to  the  castle.  By  the 
first  walk  we  ascend  a  flight  of  steps  to  the  western  gate,  passing 
through  which,  we  enter  a  delightful  garden,  between  the  outer 
walls  of  the  Castle,  and  the  huge  moat  which  surrounds  it. 
Great  linden,  oak  and  beach  trees  shadow  the  walk,  and  in  secluded 


60  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


nooks,  little  mouutain  streams  spring  from  the  side  of  the  wall 
into  stone  basins.  There  is  a  tower  over  the  moat  on  the  south 
side,  next  the  mountain,  where  the  portcullis  still  hangs  with  its 
sharp  teeth  as  it  was  last  drawn  up  ;  on  each  side  stand  two  grim 
knights  guarding  the  entrance.  In  one  of  the  wooded  walks  is  an 
old  tree  brought  from  America  in  the  year  1618.  It  is  of  the 
kind  called  arhor  vitce,  and  uncommonly  tall  and  slender  for  one 
of  this  species  ;  yet  it  does  not  seem  to  thrive  well  in  a  foreign  soil. 
I  noticed  that  persons  had  cut  many  slips  off  the  lower  branches, 
and  I  would  have  been  tempted  to  do  the  same  myself  if  there  had 
been  any  I  could  reach.  In  the  curve  of  the  mountain  is  a  hand- 
some pavilion,  surrounded  with  beds  of  flowers  and  fountains ; 
here  all  classes  meet  together  in  the  afternoon  to  sit  with  their  re- 
freshments in  the  shade,  while  frequently  a  fine  band  of  music 
gives  them  their  invariable  recreation.  All  this,  with  the  scenery 
around  them,  leaves  nothing  unfinished  to  their  present  enjoy- 
ment. The  Germans  enjoy  life  under  all  circumstances,  and  in 
this  way  they  make  themselves  much  happier  than  we,  who  have 
far  greater  means  of  being  so. 

At  the  end  of  the  terrace  built  for  the  princess  Elizabeth,  of 
England,  is  one  of  the  round  towers,  which  was  split  in  tv/ain  by 
the  French.  Half  has  fallen  entirely  away,  and  the  other  semi- 
circular shell  which  joins  the  terrace  and  part  of  the  Castle  build- 
ings, clings  firmly  together,  although  part  of  its  foundation  is 
gone,  so  that  its  outer  ends  actually  hang  in  the  air.  Some  idea 
of  the  strength  of  the  castle  may  be  obtained  when  I  state  that  the 
walls  of  this  tower  are  twenty-two  feet  thick,  and  that  a  staircase 
has  been  made  through  them  to  the  top,  where  one  can  sit  under 
the  lindens  growing  upon  it,  or  look  down  from  the  end  on  the 
city  below  with  the  pleasant  consciousness  that  the  great  mass 
upon  which  he  stands  is  only  prevented  from  crashing  down  with 
him  by  the  solidity  of  its  masonry.  On  one  side,  joining  the  gar- 
den, the  statue  of  the  Archduke  Louis,  in  his  breastplate  and 
flowing  beard,  looks  out  from  among  the  ivy. 

There  is  little  to  be  seen  about  the  Castle  except  the  walls 
themselves.  The  guide  conducted  us  through  passages,  in  which 
were  heaped  many  of  the  enormous  cannon  balls  which  it  had  re- 
ceived in  sieges,  to  some  chambers  in  the  foundation.     This  was 


LIFE  IN  HEIDELBERG.  61 


the  oldest  part  of  the  Castle,  built  in  the  thirteenth  century.  We 
also  visited  the  chapel,  which  is  in  a  tolerable  state  of  preserva- 
tion. A  kind  of  narrow  bridge  crosses  it,  over  which  we  walked, 
looking  down  on  the  empty  pulpit  and  deserted  shrines.  We 
then  went  into  the  cellar  to  see  the  celebrated  Tun.  In  a  large 
vault  are  kept  several  enormous  hogsheads,  one  of  which  is  three 
hundred  years  old,  but  they  are  nothing  in  comparison  with  the 
tun,  which  itself  fills  a  whole  vault.  It  is  as  high  as  a  common 
two  story  house  ;  on  the  top  is  a  platform  upon  which  the  people 
used  to  dance  after  it  was  filled,  to  which  one  ascends  by  two 
flights  of  steps.  I  forgot  exactly  how  many  casks  it  holds,  but 
I  believe  eight  hundred.     It  has  been  empty  for  fifty  years. 

We  are  very  pleasantly  situated  here.  My  friends,  who  arrived 
a  day  before  me,  hired  three  rooms  (with  the  assistance  of  a  cou- 
rier) in  a  large  house  on  the  banks  of  the  Neckar.  We  pay  for 
them,  with  attendance,  thirty  florins — about  twelve  dollars — a 
month,  and  Frau  Dr.  Grosch,  our  polite  and  talkative  landlady, 
gives  us  a  student's  breakfast — coffee  and  biscuit — for  about  seven 
cents  apiece.  We  are  often  much  amused  to  hear  her  endeavors 
to  make  us  understand.  As  if  to  convey  her  meaning  plainer, 
she  raises  both  thumbs  and  forefingers  to  her  mouth  and  pulls 
out  the  words  like  a  long  string;  her  tongue  goes  so  fast  that  it 
keeps  my  mind  always  on  a  painful  stretch  to  comprehend  an  idea 
here  and  there.  Dr.  S ,  from  whom  we  take  lessons  in  Ger- 
man, has  kindly  consented  to  our  dining  with  his  family  for  the 
sake  of  practice  in  speaking.  We  have  taken  several  long  walks 
with  them  along  the  banks  of  the  Neckar,  but  I  should  be  puz- 
zled to  repeat  any  of  the  conversations  that  took  place.  The 
language,  however,  is  fast  growing  more  familiar,  since  women 
are  the  principal  teachers. 

Opposite  my  window  rises  the  Heiligenberg,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Neckar.  The  lower  part  of  it  is  rich  with  vineyards,  and 
many  cottages  stand  embosomed  in  shrubbery  among  them. 
Sometimes  we  see  groups  of  maidens  standing  under  the  grape 
arbors,  and  every  morning  the  peasant  women  go  toiling  up  the 
steep  paths  with  baskets  on  their  heads,  to  labor  among  the  vines. 
On  the  Neckar  below  us,  the  fishermen  glide  about  in  their  boats, 
sink  their  square  nets  fastened  to  a  long  pole,  and  haul  them 


62  VIEWS  A-FOOT- 


up  with  the  glittering  fish,  of  which  the  stream  is  full.  I  often 
lean  out  of  the  window  late  at  night,  when  the  mountains  above 
are  wrapped  in  dusky  obscurity,  and  listen  to  the  low,  musical 
ripple  of  the  river.  It  tells  to  my  excited  fancy  a  knightly  legend 
of  the  old  German  time.  Then  comes  the  bell,  rung  for  closing 
the  inns,  breaking  the  spell  with  its  deep  clang,  which  vibrates 
far  away  on  the  night  air,  till  it  has  roused  all  the  echoes  of  the 
Odenwald.  I  then  shut  the  window,  turn  into  the  narrow  box 
which  the  Germans  call  a  bed,  and  in  a  few  minutes  am  wander- 
ing in  America.  Half  way  up  the  Heiligenberg  runs  a  beautiful 
walk,  dividing  the  vineyards  from  the  forest  above.  This  is  called 
the  Philosopher's  Way,  because  it  was  the  favorite  ramble  of  the 
old  Professors  of  the  University.  It  can  be  reached  by  a  toil- 
some, winding  path  among  the  vines,  called  the  Snake-way,  and 
when  one  has  ascended  to  it  he  is  well  rewarded  by  the  lovely 
view.  In  the  evening,  when  the  sun  has  got  behind  the  moun- 
tain, it  is  delightful  to  sit  on  the  stone  steps  and  watch  the  golden 
light  creeping  up  the  side  of  the  Kaiser-stuhl,  till  at  last  twilight 
begins  to  darken  in  the  valley  and  a  mantle  of  mist  gathers  above 
the  Neckar. 

We  ascended  the  mountain  a  few  days  ago.  There  is  a  path 
which  leads  up  through  the  forest,  but  we  took  the  shortest  way, 
directly  up  the  side,  though  it  was  at  an  angle  of  nearly  fifty  de- 
grees. It  was  hard  enough  work,  scrambling  through  the  thick 
broom  and  heather,  and  over  stumps  and  stones.  In  one  of  the 
stone-heaps  I  dislodged  a  large  orange-colored  salamander,  seven 
or  eight  inches  long.  They  are  sometimes  found  on  these 
mountains,  as  well  as  a  very  large  kind  of  lizard,  called  the 
eidechse,  which  the  Germans  say  is  perfectly  harmless,  and  if 
one  whistles  or  plays  a  pipe,  will  come  and  play  around  him. 
The  view  from  the  top  reminded  me  of  that  from  Catskill  Moun- 
tain House,  but  is  on  a  smaller  scale.  The  mountains  stretch  off 
sideways,  confining  the  view  to  but  half  the  horizon,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  picture  the  Hudson  is  well  represented  by  the 
lengthened  windings  of  the  "  abounding  Rhine."  Nestled  at  the 
base  below  us,  was  the  little  village  of  Handschuhheim,  one  of 
the  oldest  in  this  part  of  Germany.  The  castle  of  its  former 
lords  has  nearly  all   fallen  down,  but  the  r?.^?issive  solidity  of  the 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY.  63 

walls  which  yet  stand,  proves  its  antiquity.  A  few  years  ago,  a 
part  of  the  outer  walls  which  was  remarked  to  have  a  hollow 
sound,  was  taken  down,  when  there  fell  from  a  deep  niche 
built  therein,  a  skeleton,  clad  in  a  suit  of  the  old  German  armor. 
"We  followed  a  road  through  the  woods  to  the  peak  on  which 
stand  the  ruins  of  St.  Michael's  chapel,  which  was  built  in  the 
tenth  century  and  inhabited  for  a  long  time  by  a  sect  of  white 
monks.  There  is  now  but  a  single  tower  remaining,  and  all 
around  is  grown  over  with  tall  bushes  and  weeds.  It  had  a  wild 
and  romantic  look,  and  I  sat  on  a  rock  and  sketched  at  it,  till  it 
grew  dark,  when  we  got  down  the  mountain  the  best  way  we 
could. 

We  lately  visited  the  great  University  Library.  You  walk 
through  one  hall  after  another,  filled  with  books  of  all  kinds,  from 
the  monkish  manuscript  of  the  middle  ages,  to  the  most  elegant 
print  of  the  present  day.  There  is  something  to  me  more  im- 
pressive in  a  library  like  this  than  a  solemn  Cathedral.  I  think 
involuntarily  of  the  hundreds  of  mighty  spirits  who  speak  from 
these  three  hundred  thousand  volumes — of  the  toils  and  privations 
with  which  genius  has  ever  struggled,  and  of  his  glorious  re- 
ward. As  in  a  church,  one  feels  as  it  were,  the  presence  of  God ; 
not  because  the  place  has  been  hallowed  by  his  worship,  but  be- 
cause all  around  stand  the  inspirations  of  his  spirit,  breathed 
through  the  mind  of  genius,  to  men.  And  if  the  mortal  remains 
of  saints  and  heroes  do  not  repose  within  its  walls,  the  great  and 
good  of  the  whole  earth  are  there,  speaking  their  counsels  to  the 
searcher  for  truth,  with  voices  whose  last  reverberation  will  die 
away  only  when  the  globe  falls  into  ruin. 

A  few  nights  ago  there  was  a  wedding  of  peasants  across  the 
river.  In  order  to  celebrate  it  particularly,  the  guests  went  to 
the  house  where  it  was  given,  by  torchlight.  The  night  was 
quite  dark,  and  the  bright  red  torches  glowed  on  the  surface  of 
the  Neckar,  as  the  two  couriers  galloped  along  the  banks  to  the 
bridegroom's  house.  Here,  after  much  shouting  and  confusion, 
the  procession  was  arranged,  the  two  riders  started  back  again 
with  their  torches,  and  the  wagons  containing  the  guests  followed 
after  with  their  flickering  lights  glancing  on  the  water,  till  they 
disappeared  around  the  foot  of  the  mountain.     The  choosing  of 


64  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Conscripts  also  took  place  lately.  The  law  requires  one  person 
out  of  every  hundred  to  become  a  soldier,  and  this,  in  the  city  of 
Heidelberg,  amounts  to  nearly  150.  It  was  a  sad  spectacle. 
The  young  men,  or  rather  boys,  who  were  chosen,  went  about 
the  city  with  cockades  fastened  on  their  hats,  shouting  and  sing- 
ing, many  of  them  quite  intoxicated.  I  could  not  help  pitying 
them  because  of  the  dismal,  mechanical  life  they  are  doomed  to 
follow.  Many  were  rough,  ignorant  peasants,  to  whom  nearly 
any  kind  of  life  would  be  agreeable ;  but  there  were  some  whose 
countenances  spoke  otherwise,  and  I  thought  involuntarily,  that 
their  drunken  gaiety  was  only  affected  to  conceal  their  real  feel- 
ings with  regard  to  the  lot  which  had  fallen  upon  them. 

We  are  gradually  becoming  accustomed  to  the  German  style 
of  living,  which  is  very  different  from  our  own.  Their  cookery 
is  new  to  us,  but  is,  nevertheless,  good.  We  have  every  day  a 
different  kind  of  soup,  so  1  have  supposed  they  keep  a  regular  list 
of  three  hundred  and  sixty-five,  one  for  every  day  in  the  year ! 
Then  we  have  potatoes  "  done  up"  in  oil  and  vinegar,  veal  fla- 
vored with  orange  peel,  barley  pudding,  and  all  sorts  of  pancakes, 
boiled  artichokes,  and  always  rye  bread,  in  loaves  a  yard  long ! 
Nevertheless,  we  thrive  on  such  diet,  and  I  have  rarely  enjoyed 
more  sound  and  refreshing  sleep  than  in  their  narrow  and  coffin- 
like beds,  uncomfortable  as  they  seem.  Many  of  the  German 
customs  are  amusing.  We  never  see  oxen  working  here,  but 
always  cows,  sometimes  a  single  one  in  a  cart,  and  sometimes 
two  fastened  together  by  a  yoke  across  their  horns.  The  women 
labor  constantly  in  the  fields  ;  from  our  window  we  can  hear  the 
nut-brown  maidens  singing  their  cheerful  songs  among  the  vine- 
yards on  the  mountain  side.  Their  costume,  too,  is  odd  enough. 
Below  the  tight-fitting  vest  they  wear  such  a  number  of  short 
skirts,  one  above  another,  that  it  reminds  one  of  an  animated  hogs- 
head, with  a  head  and  shoulders  starting  out  from  the  top.  I 
have  heard  it  gravely  asserted  that  the  wealth  of  a  German  dam- 
sel may  be  known  by  counting  the  number  of  her  "  kirtles."  An 
acquaintance  of  mine  remarked,  that  it  would  be  an  excellent 
costume  for  falling  down  a  precipice ! 

We  have  just  returned  from  a  second  visit  to  Frankfort,  where 
the  great  annual  fair  filled  the  streets  with  noise  and  bustle.    On 


SCENERY  OF  THE  ODENWALD.  65 

our  way  back,  we  stopped  at  the  village  of  Zwingenberg,  which 
lies  at  the  foot  of  the  Melibochus,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  some 
of  the  scenery  of  the  Odenwald.  Passing  the  night  at  the  inn 
there,  we  slept  with  one  bed  under  and  two  above,  and  started 
early  in  the  morning  to  climb  up  the  side  of  the  Melibochus. 
After  a  long  walk  through  the  forests,  which  were  beginning  to 
change  their  summer  foliage  for  a  brighter  garment,  we  reached 
the  summit  and  ascended  the  stone  tower  which  stands  upon  it. 
This  view  gives  one  a  better  idea  of  the  Odenwald,  than  that 
from  the  Kaiser-stuhl  at  Heidelberg.  In  the  soft  autumn  atmos- 
phere it  looked  even  more  beautiful.  After  an  hour  in  that  hea- 
ven of  uplifted  thought,  into  which  we  step  from  the  mountain- 
top,  our  minds  went  with  the  path  downward  to  earth,  and  we 
descended  the  eastern  side  into  the  wild  region  which  contains 
the  Felsenmeer,  or  Sea  of  Rocks. 

We  met  on  the  way  a  student  from  Fulda — a  fine  specimen  of 
what  free-spirited  class,  and  a  man  whose  smothered  aspiration 
was  betrayed  in  the  flashing  of  his  eye,  as  he  spoke  of  the  pres- 
ent painful  and  oppressed  condition  of  Germany.  We  talked 
so  busily  together  that  without  noticing  the  path,  which  had  been 
bringing  us  on,  up  hill  and  down,  through  forest  and  over  rock,  we 
came  at  last  to  a  halt  in  a  valley  among  the  mountains.  Making 
inquiries  there,  we  found  we  had  gone  wrong,  and  must  ascend 
by  a  different  path  the  mountain  we  had  just  come  down.  Near 
the  summit  of  this,  in  a  wild  pine  wood,  was  the  Felsenmeer — a 
great  collection  of  rocks  heaped  together  like  pebbles  on  the  sea 
shore,  and  worn  and  rounded  as  if  by  the  action  of  water :  so 
much  do  they  resemble  waves,  that  one  standing  at  the  bottom 
and  looking  up,  cannot  resist  the  idea,  that  they  will  flow  down 
upon  him.  It  must  have  been  a  mighty  tide  whose  receding 
waves  left  these  masses  piled  up  together !  The  same  forma- 
tion continues  at  intervals,  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains.  It  re- 
minded me  of  a  glacier  of  rocks  instead  of  ice.  A  little  higher 
up,  lies  a  massive  block  of  granite  called  the  "Giant's  Column." 
It  is  thirty-two  feet  long  and  three  to  four  feet  in  diameter,  and 
still  bears  the  mark  of  the  chisel.  When  or  bv  whom  it  was 
made,  remains  a  mystery.  Some  have  supposed  it  was  intended 
to  be  erected  for  the  worship  of  the  Sun,  by  the  wild  Teutonic 


66  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


tribes  who  inhabited  this  forest ;  it  is  more  probably  the  work  of 
the  Romans.  A  project  was  once  started,  to  erect  it  as  a  monu- 
ment on  the  battle-field  of  Leipsic,  but  it  was  found  too  difficult 
to  carry  into  execution. 

After  dining  at  the  little  village  of  Reichelsdorf  in  the  valley 
below,  where  the  merry  landlord  charged  my  friend  two  kreut- 
zers  less  than  myself  because  he  was  not  so  tall,  we  visited  the  Cas- 
tle of  Schonberg,  and  joined  the  Bergstrasse  again.  We  walked 
the  rest  of  the  way  here ;  long  before  we  arrived,  the  moon  shone 
down  on  us  over  the  mountains,  and  when  we  turned  around  the 
foot  of  the  Heiligenberg,  the  mist  descending  in  the  valley  of  the 
Neckar,  rested  like  a  light  cloud  on  the  church  spires. 


ENTERING  THE   ODENWALD.  67 


CHAPTER    X. 

A    WALK    THROUGH    THE    ODENWALD. 

B and  I  are  now  conrifortably  settled  in  Frankfort,  having, 

with  Mr.  Willis's  kind  assistance,  obtained  lodgings  with  the 
amiable  family,  with  whom  he  has  resided  for  more  than  two 
years.  My  cousin  remains  in  Heidelberg  to  attend  the  winter 
course  of  lectures  at  the  University. 

Having  forwarded  our  baggage  by  the  omnibus,  we  came 
hither  on  foot,  through  the  heart  of  the  Odenwald,  a  region  full 

of  interest,    yet  little  visited  by  travellers.     Dr.  S and  his 

family  walked  with  us  three  or  four  miles  of  the  way,  and  on  a 
hill  above  Ziegelhausen,  with  a  splendid  view  behind  us,  through 
the  mountain-door,  out  of  which  the  Neckar  enters  on  the 
Rhine-plain,  we  parted.  This  was  a  first,  and  I  must  confess,  a 
somewhat  embarrassing  experience  in  German  leave-taking. 
After  bidding  adieu  three  or  four  times,  we  started  to  go  up  the 
mountain  and  they  down  it,  but  at  every  second  step  we  had  to 
turn  around  to  acknowledge  the  waving  of  hands  and  handker- 
chiefs, which  continued  so  long  that  I  was  glad  when  we  were 
out  of  sight  of  each  other.  We  descended  on  the  other  side  into 
a  wild  and  romantic  valley,  whose  meadows  were  of  the  bright- 
est green ;  a  little  brook  which  wound  through  them,  put  now 
and  then  its  "silvery  shoulder"  to  the  wheel  of  a  rustic  mill. 
By  the  road-side  two  or  three  wild-looking  gipsies  sat  around  a 
fire,  with  some  goats  feeding  near  them. 

Passing  through  this  valley  and  the  little  village  of  Schonau, 
we  commenced  ascending  one  of  the  loftiest  ranges  of  the  Oden- 
wald. The  side  of  the  mountain  was  covered  with  a  thick  pine 
forest.  There  was  no  wind  to  wake  its  solemn  anthem  ;  all  was 
calm  and  majestic,  and  even:  awful.     The  trees  rose  all  around 


68  VIEWS  A -FOOT. 


like  the  pillars  of  a  vast  Cathedral,  whose  long  arched  aisles  van- 
ished far  below  in  the  deepening  gloom. 

"  Nature  with  folded  hands  seemed  there. 
Kneeling  at  her  evening  prayer/' 

for  twilight  had  already  begun  to  gather.  We  went  on  and  up 
and  ever  higher,  like  the  youth  in  "Excelsior;"  the  beech  and 
dwarf  oak  took  the  place  of  the  pine,  and  at  last  we  arrived  at  a 
cleared  summit  whose  long  brown  grass  waved  desolately  in  the 
dim  light  of  evening.  A  faint  glow  still  lingered  over  the  forest- 
hills,  but  down  in  the  valley  the  dusky  shades  hid  every  vestige 
of  life,  though  its  sounds  came  up  softened  through  the  long  space. 
When  we  reached  the  top  a  bright  planet  stood  like  a  diamond 
over  the  brow  of  the  eastern  hill,  and  the  sound  of  a  twilight  bell 
came  up  clearly  and  sonorously  on  the  cool  damp  air.  The 
white  veil  of  mist  slowly  descended  down  the  mountain  side,  but 
the  peaks  rose  above  it  like  the  wrecks  of  a  world,  floating  in 
space.  We  made  our  way  in  the  dusk  down  the  long  path,  to 
the  rude  little  dorf  of  Elsbach.  I  asked  at  the  first  inn  for  lodg- 
ing, where  we  were  ushered  into  a  great  room,  in  which  a  num- 
ber of  girls  who  had  been  at  work  in  the  fields,  were  assembled. 
They  were  all  dressed  m  men's  jackets,  and  short  gowns,  and 
some  had  their  hair  streaming  down  their  back.  The  landlord's 
daughter,  however,  was  a  beautiful  girl,  whose  modest,  delicate 
features  contrasted  greatly  with  the  coarse  faces  of  the  others.  I 
thought  of  Uhland's  beautiful  little  poem  of  "  The  Landlady's 
Daughter,"  as  I  looked  on  her.  In  the  room  hung  two  or  three 
pair  of  antlers,  and  they  told  us  deer  were  still  plenty  in  the 
forests. 

When  we  left  the  village  the  next  morning,  we  again  com- 
menced ascending.  Over  the  whole  valley  and  halfway  up  the 
mountain,  lay  a  thick  white  frost,  almost  like  snow,  which  con- 
trasted with  the  green  trees  and  bushes  scattered  over  the  mead- 
ows, produced  the  most  singular  effect.  We  plucked  blackberries 
ready  iced  from  the  bushes  by  the  road-side,  and  went  on  in  the 
cold,  for  the  sun  shone  only  on  the  top  of  the  opposite  mountain, 
into  another  valley,  down  which  rushed  the  rapid  Ulver.  At  a 
little  village  which  bears  the  beautiful  name  Anteschonmattenwagf 


CASTLE   OF   ERBACH.  69 

we  took  a  foot-path  directly  over  a  steep  mountain  to  the  village 
of  Finkenbach.  Near  the  top  I  found  two  wild-looking  children, 
cutting  grass  with  knives,  both  of  whom  I  prevailed  upon  for  a 
few  kreutzers  to  stand  and  let  me  sketch  them.  From  the  sum- 
mit the  view  on  the  other  side  was  very  striking.  The  hills  were 
nearly  everyone  covered  with  wood,  and  not  a  dwelling  in  sight. 
It  reminded  me  of  our  forest  scenery  at  home.  The  principal 
difference  is,  that  our  trees  are  two  or  three  times  the  size  of 
theirs. 

At  length,  after  scaling  another  mountain,  we  reached  a  wide, 
elevated  plain,  in  the  middle  of  which  stood  the  old  dorf  of  Beer- 
felden.  It  was  then  crowded  with  people,  on  account  of  a  great 
cattle-fair  being  held  there.  All  the  farmers  of  the  neighborhood 
were  assembled,  clad  in  the  ancient  country  costume — broad 
cocked  hats  and  blue  frocks.  An  orchard  near  the  town  was 
filled  with  cattle  and  horses,  and  near  by,  in  the  shade,  a  number 
of  pedlars  had  arranged  their  wares.  The  cheerful  looking 
country  people  touched  their  hats  to  us  as  we  passed.  This  cus- 
tom of  greeting  travellers,  universal  in  Germany,  is  very  expres- 
sive of  their  social,  friendly  manners.  Among  the  mountains, 
we  frequently  met  groups  of  children,  who  sang  together  their 
simple  ballads  as  we  passed  by. 

From  Beerfelden  we  passed  down  the  valley  of  the  Mimling  to 
Erbach,  the  principal  city  in  the  Odenwald,  and  there  stopped  a 
short  time  to  view  the  Rittersaal  in  the  old  family  castle  of  the 
Counts  of  Erbach.  An  officer,  who  stood  at  the  gates,  conducted 
us  to  the  door,  where  we  were  received  by  a  noble-looking,  gray- 
headed  steward.  He  took  us  into  the  Rittersaal  at  once,  which 
was  like  stepping  back  three  hundred  years.  The  stained  win- 
dows of  the  lofty  Gothic  hall,  let  in  a  subdued  light  which  fell  on 
the  forms  of  kings  and  knights,  clad  in  the  armor  they  wore  dur- 
mg  life.  On  the  left  as  we  entered,  were  mail-covered  figures  of 
John  and  Cosmo  de  Medici ;  further  on  stood  the  Emperor  Maxi- 
milian, and  by  his  side  the  celebrated  dwarf  who  was  served  up 
in  a  pie  at  one  of  the  imperial  feasts.  His  armor  was  most  deli- 
cate and  beautiful,  but  small  as  it  was.  General  Thumb  would 
have  had  room  in  it.  Gustavus  Adolphus  and  Wallenstein  looked 
down  from  the  neighboring  pedestals,  while  at  the  other  end  stood 


70  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Goetz  von  Berlichingen  and  Albert  of  Brunswick.  Guarding 
the  door  were  Hans,  the  robber-knight  of  Nuremberg,  and  another 
from  the  ThUringian  forest.  The  steward  told  me  that  the  iron 
hand  of  Goetz  was  in  possession  of  the  family,  but  not  shown  to 
strangers;  he  pointed  out,  however,  the. buckles  on  the  armor, 
by  which  it  was  fastened.  Adjoining  the  hall  is  an  antique 
chapel,  filled  with  rude  old  tombs,  and  containing  the  sarcophagus 
of  Count  Eginhard  of  Denmark,  who  lived  about  the  tenth  cen- 
tury. There  were  also  monkish  garments  five  hundred  years 
old  hanging  up  in  it. 

The  collection  of  antiquities  is  large  and  interesting ;  but  it  is 
said  that  the  old  Count  obtained  some  of  them  in  rather  a  ques- 
tionable manner.  Among  other  incidents,  they  say  that  when  in 
Rome  he  visited  the  Pope,  taking  with  him  an  old  servant  who 
accompanied  him  in  all  his  travels,  and  was  the  accomplice  in 
most  of  his  antiquarian  thefts.  In  one  of  the  outer  halls,  among 
the  curiosities,  was  an  antique  shield  of  great  value.  The  ser- 
vant was  left  in  this  hall  while  the  Count  had  his  audience,  and 
in  a  short  time  this  shield  was  missed.  The  servant  who  wore 
a  long  cloak,  was  missed  also ;  orders  were  given  to  close  the 
gates  and  search  every  body,  but  it  was  too  late — the  thief  was 
gone. 

Leaving  Erbach  we  found  out  the  direction  of  Snellert,  the 
Castle  of  the  Wild  Huntsman,  and  took  a  road  that  led  us  for  two 
or  three  hours  along  the  top  of  a  mountain  ridge.  Through  the 
openings  in  the  pine  and  larch  forests,  we  had  glimpses  of  the 
hills  of  Spessart,  beyond  the  Main.  When  we  finally  left  the 
by-road  we  had  chosen  it  was  quite  dark,  and  we  missed  the 
way  altogether  among  the  lanes  and  meadows.  We  came  at  last 
to  a  full  stop  at  the  house  of  a  farmer,  who  guided  us  by  a  foot 
path  over  the  fields  to  a  small  village.  On  entering  the  only  inn, 
kept  by  the  Burgomaster,  the  people  finding  we  were  Americans, 
regarded  us  with  a  curiosity  quite  uncomfortable.  They  crowded 
around  the  door,  watching  every  motion,  and  gazed  in  through 
the  windows.  The  wild  huntsman  himself  could  scarcely  have 
made  a  greater  sensation.  The  news  of  our  arrival  seemed  to 
have  spread  very  fast,  for  the  next  morning  when  we  stopped  at 
a  prune  orchard  some  distance  from  the  village  to  buy  some 


GERMAN  EMIGRANTS.  71 

fruit,  the  farmer  cried  out  from  a  tree,  "  they  are  the  Americans ; 
give  them  as  many  as  they  want  for  nothing  !" 

With  the  Burgomaster's  little  son  for  a  guide,  we  went  back  a 
mile  or  two  of  our  route  to  Snellert,  which  we  had  passed  the 
night  before,  and  after  losing  ourselves  two  or  three  times  in  the 
woods,  arrived  at  last  at  the  top  of  the  mountain,  where  the  ruins 
of  the  castle  stand.  The  walls  are  nearly  level  with  the  ground. 
The  interest  of  a  visit  rests  entirely  on  the  romantic  legend,  and 
the  wild  view  over  the  hills  around,  particularly  that  in  front, 
where  on  the  opposite  mountain  are  the  ruins  of  Rodenstein,  to 
which  the  wild  Huntsman'  was  wont  to  ride  at  midnight — where 
he  now  rides  no  more.  The  echoes  of  Rodenstein  are  no  longer 
awakened  by  the  sound  of  his  bugle,  and  the  hoofs  of  his  demon 
steed  clanging  on  the  battlements.  But  the  hills  around  are  wild 
enough,  and  the  roar  of  the  pine  forests  deep  enough  to  have  in- 
spired the  simple  peasants  with  the  romantic  tradition. 

Stopping  for  dinner  at  the  town  of  Rheinheim,  we  met  an  old 
man,  who,  on  learning  we  were  Americans,  walked  with  us  as 
far  as  the  next  village.  He  had  a  daughter  in  America  and  was 
highly  gratified  to  meet  any  one  from  the  country  of  her  adop- 
tion. He  made  me  promise  to  visit  her,  if  I  ever  should  go  to  St. 
Louis,  and  say  that  I  had  walked  with  her  father  from  Rheinheim 
to  Zwangenburg.  To  satisfy  his  fears  that  I  might  forget  it,  I 
took  down  his  name  and  that  of  his  daughter.  He  shook  me 
warmly  by  the  hand  at  parting,  and  was  evidently  made  happier 
for  that  day. 

We  reached  Darmstadt  just  in  time  to  take  a  seat  in  the  omni- 
bus for  Frankfort.  Among  the  passengers  were  a  Bavarian  fam- 
ily, on  their  way  to  Bremen,  to  ship  from  thence  to  Texas.  I 
endeavored  to  discourage  the  man  from  choosing  such  a  country 
as  his  home,  by  telling  him  of  its  heats  and  pestilences,  but  he 
was  too  full  of  hope  to  be  shaken  in  his  purpose.  I  would  have 
added  that  it  was  a  slave-land,  but  I  thought  on  our  own  country's 
curse,  and  was  silent.  The  wife  was  not  so  sanguine  ;  she  seemed 
to  mourn  in  secret  at  leaving  her  beautiful  fatherland.  It  was 
saddening  to  think  how  lonely  they  would  feel  in  that  far  home, 
and  how  they  would  long,  with  true  German  devotion,  to  look 
again  on  the  green  vintage-hills  of  their  forsaken  country.     As 


72  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


night  drew  on,  the  little  girl  crept  over  to  her  father  for  his  accus- 
tomed evening  kiss,  and  then  sank  back  to  sleep  in  a  corner  of  the 
wagon.  The  boy,  in  the  artless  confidence  of  childhood,  laid  his 
head  on  my  breast,  weary  with  the  day's  travel,  and  soon  slept 
also.  Thus  we  drove  on  in  the  dark,  till  at  length  the  lights  of 
Frankfort  glimmered  on  the  breast  of  the  rapid  Main,  as  we  passed 
over  the  bridge,  and  when  we  stopped  near  the  Cathedral,  I  de- 
livered up  my  little  charge  and  sent  my  sympathy  with  the 
wanderers  on  their  lonely  way. 


FRANKFORT.  73 


CHAPTER    XI. 

SCENES    IN    FRANKFORT AN    AMERICAN    COMPOSER THE   POET 

FREILIGRATH. 

Dec,  4. — This  is  a  genuine  old  German  city.  Founded  by 
Charlemagne,  afterwards  a  rallying  point  of  the  Crusaders,  and 
for  a  long  time  the  capital  of  the  German  empire,  it  has  no  lack 
of  interesting  historical  recollections,  and  notwithstanding  it  is 
fast  becoming  modernized,  one  is  every  where  reminded  of  the 
Past.  The  Cathedral,  old  as  the  days  of  Peter  the  Hermit,  the 
grotesque  street  of  the  Jews,  the  many  quaint,  antiquated  dwell- 
ings and  the  mouldering  watch-towers  on  the  hills  around,  give 
it  a  more  interesting  character  than  any  German  city  I  have  yet 
seen.  The  house  we  dwell  in,  on  the  Markt  Platz,  is  more  than 
two  hundred  years  old ;  directly  opposite  is  a  great  castellated 
building,  gloomy  with  the  weight  of  six  centuries,  and  a  few 
steps  to  the  left  brings  me  to  the  square  of  the  Roemerberg, 
where  the  Emperors  were  crowned,  in  a  corner  of  which  is  a 
curiously  ornamented  house,  formerly  the  residence  of  Luther. 
There  are  legends  innumerable  connected  with  all  these  build- 
ings,  and  even  yet  discoveries  are  frequently  made  in  old  houses, 
of  secret  chambers  and  staircases.  When  you  add  to  all  this, 
the  German  love  of  ghost  stories,  and,  indeed,  their  general  belief 
in  spirits,  the  lover  of  romance  could  not  desire  a  more  agreea- 
ble residence. 

I  often  look  out  on  the  singular  scene  below  my  window.  On 
both  sides  of  the  street,  leaving  barely  room  to  enter  the  houses, 
sit  the  market  women,  with  their  baskets  of  vegetables  and  fruit. 
The  middle  of  the  street  is  filled  with  women  buying,  and  every 
cart  or  carriage  that  comes  along,  has  to  force  its  way  through 
the  crowd,  sometimes  rolling  against  and  overturning  the  baskets 
on  the  side,  when  for  a  few  minutes  there  is  a  Babel  of  unin- 

5 


74  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


telligible  sounds.  The  country  women  in  their  jackets  and  short 
gowns  go  backwards  and  forwards  with  great  loads  on  their 
heads,  sometimes  nearly  as  high  as  themselves.  It  is  a  most  sin- 
gular  scene,  and  so  varied  that  one  never  tires  of  looking  upon 
it.  These  women  sit  here  from  sunrise  till  sunset,  day  after  day, 
for  years.  They  have  little  furnaces  for  cooking  and  for  warmth 
in  winter,  and  when  it  rains  they  sit  in  large  wooden  boxes.  One 
or  two  policemen  are  generally  on  the  ground  in  the  morning  to 
prevent  disputing  about  their  places,  v/hich  often  gives  rise  to  in- 
teresting scenes.  Perhaps  this  kind  of  life  in  the  open  air  is  con- 
ducive to  longevity  ;  for  certainly  there  is  no  country  on  earth 
that  has  as  many  old  women.  Many  of  them  look  like  walking 
machines  made  of  leather;  and  to  judge  from  what  I  see  in  the 
streets  here,  I  should  think  they  work  till  they  die. 

On  the  21st  of  October  a  most  interesting  fete  took  place.  The 
magnificent  monument  of  Goethe,  modelled  by  the  sculptor  Schwan- 
thaler,  at  Munich,  and  cast  in  bronze,  was  unveiled.  It  arrived 
a  few  day?  before,  and  was  received  with  much  ceremony  and 
erected  in  the  destined  spot,  an  open  square  in  the  western  part 
of  the  city,  planted  with  acacia  trees.  1  went  there  at  ten  o'clock, 
and  found  the  square  already  full  ol  people.  Seats  had  been 
erected  around  the  monument  for  ladies,  the  singers  and  musicians. 
A  company  of  soldiers  was  stationed  to  keep  an  entrance  for  the 
procession,  which  at  length  arrived  with  music  and  banners,  and 
entered  the  enclosure.  A  song  for  the  occasion  was  sung  by  the 
choir;  it  swelled  up  gradually,  and  with  such  perfect  harmony 
and  unity,  that  it  seemed  like  some  glorious  instrwment  touched 
by  a  single  hand.  Then  a  poetical  address  was  delivered  ;  after 
which  four  young  men  took  their  stand  at  the  corners  of  the  mon- 
ument ;  the  drums  and  trumpets  gave  a  flourish,  and  the  mantle 
fell.  The  noble  figure  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  earth,  and  thus 
amid  shoutings  and  the  triumphal  peal  of  the  band,  the  form  of 
Goethe  greeted  the  city  of  his  birth.  He  is  represented  as  lean- 
ing on  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  holding  in  his  right  hand  a  roll  of 
parchment,  and  in  his  left  a  wreath.  The  pedestal,  which  is  also 
of  bronze,  contains  bas  reliefs,  representing  scenes  from  Faust, 
V*^ilhelm  Meister  and  Egmont.  In  the  evening  Goethe's  house, 
in  a  street  near,  was  illuminated  by  arches  of  lamps  between  the 


A    >EUMAN   CITY.  75 


windows,  and  hung  with  wreaths  of  flowers.  Four  pillars  of 
colored  lamps  lighted  the  statue.  At  nine  o'clock  1*16  choir  of 
singers  came  again  in  a  procession,  with  colored  lanterns,  on 
poles,  and  after  singing  two  or  three  songs,  the  statue  was  exhib- 
ited in  the  red  glare  of  the  Bengal  light.  The  trees  and  houses 
around  the  square  were  covered  with  the  glow,  which  streamed 
in  broad  sheets  up  against  the  dark  sky. 

Within  the  walls  the  greater  part  of  Frankfort  is  built  in  the 
old  German  style — the  houses  six  or  seven  stories  high,  and  every 
story  projecting  out  over  the  other,  so  that  those  living  in  the 
upper  part  can  nearly  shake  hands  out  of  the  windows.  At  the 
corners  figures  of  men  are  often  seen,  holding  up  the  story  above 
on  their  shoulders  and  making  horrible  faces  at  the  weight. 
When  I  state  that  in  all  these  narrow  streets  which  constitute  the 
greater  part  of  the  city,  there  are  no  sidewalks,  the  windows  of 
the  lower  stories  with  an  iron  grating  extending  a  foot  or  so  into 
the  street,  which  is  only  wide  enough  for  one  cart  to  pass  along, 
you  can  have  some  idea  of  the  facility  of  walking  through  them, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  piles  of  wood,  and  market-women  with  bas- 
kets of  vegetables  which  one  is  continually  stumbling  over. 
Even  in  the  wider  streets,  I  have  always  to  look  before  and  be- 
hind to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  fiacres ;  the  people  here  get 
so  accustomed  to  it,  that  they  leave  barely  room  for  them  to  pass, 
and  the  carriages  go  dashing  by  at  a  nearness  which  sometimes 
makes  me  shudder. 

As  I  walked  across  the  Main,  and  looked  down  at  the  swift  stream 
on  its  way  from  the  distant  Thuringian  forest  to  join  the  Rhine, 
I  tliought  of  the  time  when  Schiller  stood  there  in  the  days  of  his 
early  struggles,  an  exile  Trom  his  native  land,  and  looking  over 
the  bridge,  said  in  the  loneliness  of  his  heart,  "  That  water 
flows  not  so  deep  as  my  sufferings  i  *  In  the  middle,  on  an  iron 
ornament,  stands  the  golden  cock  at  which  Goethe  used  to  marvel 
when  a  boy.  Perhaps  you  have  not  heard  the  legend  connected 
with  this.  The  bridge  was  built  several  hundred  years  ago, 
with  such  strength  and  solidity  that  it  will  stand  many  hundred 
yet.  The  architect  had  contracted  to  build  it  within  a  certain 
time,  but  as  it  drew  near,  witliout  any  prospect  of  fulfilment,  the 
ievil  appeared  to  him  and   promised  to  finish  it,  on  condition  of 


76  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


having  the  first  scul  that  passed  over  it.  This  was  agreed 
upon  and  the  devil  performed  his  part  of  the  bargain.  The 
artist,  however,  on  the  day  appointed,  drove  a  cock  across  before 
he  suffered  any  one  to  pass  over  it.  His  majesty  stationed  him 
self  under  the  middle  arch  of  the  bridge,  awaiting  his  prey ;  but 
enraged  at  the  cheat,  he  tore  the  unfortunate  fowl  in  pieces  and 
broke  two  holes  in  the  arch,  saying  they  should  never  be  built 
up  again.  The  golden  cock  was  erected  on  the  bridge  as  a  token 
of  the  event,  but  the  devil  has  perhaps  lost  some  of  his  power 
in  these  latter  days,  for  the  holes  were  filled  up  about  thirty 
years  ago. 

From  the  hills  on  the  Darmstadt  road,  I  had  a  view  of  the 
country  around — the  fields  were  white  and  bare,  and  the  dark 
Tannus,  with  the  broad  patches  of  snow  on  his  sides,  looked  grim 
and  shadowy  through  the  dim  atmosphere.  It  was  like  the  land- 
scape of  a  dream — dark,  strange  and  silent.  The  whole  of  last 
month  we  saw  the  sun  but  two  or  three  days,  the  sky  being 
almost  continually  covered  with  a  gloomy  fog.  England  and 
Germany  seem  to  have  exchanged  climates  this  year,  for  in  the 
former  country  we  had  delightfully  clear  weather. 

I  have  seen  the  banker  Rothschild  several  times  driving  about 
the  city.  This  one — Anselmo,  the  most  celebrated  of  the  broth- 
ers— holds  a  mortfrasre  on  the  citv  of  Jerusalem.  He  rides  about 
in  style,  with  officers  attending  his  carriage.  He  is  a  little  bald- 
headed  man,  with  marked  Jewish  features,  and  is  said  not  to 
deceive  his  looks.  At  any  rate,  his  reputation  is  none  of  the 
best,  either  with  Jews  or  Christians.  A  caricature  was  published 
some  time  ago,  in  which  he  is  represented  as  giving  a  beggar 
woman  by  the  way-side,  a  kreutzer — the  smallest  German  coin. 
She  is  made  to  exclaim,  "  God  reward  you,  a  thousand  fold  !" 
He  immediately  replies,  after  reckoning  up  in  his  head  :  "  How 
much  have  I  then  ? — sixteen  florins  and  forty  kreutzers !" 

I  have  lately  heard  one  of  the  most  perfectly  beautiful  crea- 
tions that  ever  emanated  from  the  soul  of  genius — the  opera  of 
Fidelio.  I  have  caught  faint  glimpses  of  that  rich  world  of  fancy 
and  feeling,  to  which  music  is  the  golden  door.  Surrendering 
myself  to  the  grasp  of  Beethoven's  powerful  conception,  I  read 
in  sounds  far  more  expressive  than  words,  the  almost  despairing 


MUSIC— RICHARD  S.  WILLIS.  77 

agony  of  the  strong-hearted,  but  still  tender  and  womanly  Fidelio 
■ — the  ecstatic  joy  of  the  wasted  prisoner,  when  he  rose  from  his 
hard  couch  in  the  dungeon,  seeming  to  feel,  in  his  maniac  brain, 
the  presentiment  of  a  bright  being  who  would  come  to  unbind  his 
chains — and  the  sobbing  and  wailing,  almost  human,  which  came 
from  the  orchestra,  when  they  dug  his  grave,  by  the  dim  lantern's 
light.  When  it  was  done,  the  murderer  stole  into  the  dungeon, 
to  gloat  on  the  agonies  of  his  victim,  ere  he  gave  the  death-blow. 
Then,  while  the  prisoner  is  waked  to  reason  by  that  sight,  and 
Fidelio  throws  herself  before  the  uplifted  dagger,  rescuing  her 
husband  with  the  courage  which  love  gives  to  a  woman's  heart, 
the  storm  of  feeling  which  has  been  gathering  in  the  music,  swells 
to  a  height  beyond  which  it  seemed  impossible  for  the  soul  to  pass. 
My  nerves  were  thrilled  till  I  could  bear  no  more.  A  mist 
seemed  to  come  before  my  eyes  and  I  scarcely  knew  what  follow- 
ed, till  the  rescued  kneeled  together  and  poured  forth  in  the  clos- 
ing hymn  the  painful  fullness  of  their  joy.  I  dreaded  the  sound 
of  voices  after  the  close,  and  the  walk  home  amid  the  harsh  rat- 
tling of  vehicles  on  the  rough  streets.  For  days  aftewards  my 
brain  was  filled  with  a  mingled  and  confused  sense  of  melody, 
like  the  half-remembered  music  of  a  dream. 

Why  should  such  magnificent  creations  of  art  be  denied  the 
new  world  ?  There  is  certainly  enthusiasm  and  refinement  of 
feeling  enough  at  home  to  appreciate  them,  were  the  proper  direc- 
tion given  to  the  popular  taste.  What  country  possesses  more 
advantages  to  foster  the  growth  of  such  an  art,  than  ours?  Why 
should  not  the  composer  gain  mighty  conceptions  from  thiC  gran- 
deur of  our  mountain  scenery,  from  the  howling  of  the  storm 
through  our  giant  forests,  from  the  eternal  thunder  of  Niagara  ? 
All  these  collateral  influences,  which  more  or  less  tend  to  the 
development  and  expansion  of  genius,  are  characteristics  of  our 
country ;  and  a  taste  for  musical  compositions  of  a  refined  and 
lofty  character,  would  soon  give  birth  to  creators. 

Fortunately  for  our  country,  this  missing  star  in  the  crown  of 
her  growing  glory,  will  probably  soon  be  replaced.  Richard  S. 
Willis,  with  whom  we  have  lived  in  delightful  companionship, 
since  coming  here,  has  been  for  more  than  two  years  studying 
and  preparing  himself  for  the  higher  branches  of  composition. 


78  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


The  musical  talent  he  displayed  while  at  college,  and  the  success 
following  the  publication  of  a  set  of  beautiful  waltzes  he  there 
composed,  led  him  to  choose  this  most  difficult  but  lofty  path  ;  the 
result  justifies  his  early  promise  and  gives  the  most  sanguine  an- 
ticipations for  the  future.  He  studied  the  first  two  years  here 
under  Schnyder  "von  Wartensee,  a  distinguished  Swiss  composer; 
and  his  exercises  have  met  with  the  warmest  approval  from  Men- 
delsohn, at  present  the  first  German  composer,  and  Rinck,  the 
celebrated  organist.  The  enormous  labor  and  application  re- 
quired to  go  through  the  preparatory  studies  alone,  would  make 
it  seem  almost  impossible  for  one  with  the  restless  energy  of  the 
American  character,  to  undertake  it ;  but  as  this  very  energy 
gives  genius  its  greatest  power,  we  may  now  trust  with  confi- 
dence that  Willis,  since  he  has  nearly  completed  his  studies,  will 
win  himself  and  his  country  honor  in  the  difficult  path  he  has 
chosen. 

One  evening,  after  sunset,  we  took  a  stroll  around  the  prome- 
nades. The  swans  were  still  floating  on  the  little  lake,  and  the 
American  poplar  beside  it,  was  in  its  full  autumn  livery.  As  we 
made  the  circuit  of  the  walks,  guns  were  firing  far  and  near, 
celebrating  the  opening  of  the  vintage  the  next  day,  and  rockets 
went  glittering  and  sparkling  up  into  the  dark  air.  Notwith- 
standing  the  late  hour  and  lowering  sky,  the  walks  were  full  of 
people,  and  we  strolled  about  with  them  till  it  grew  quite  dark, 
watching  the  fire- works  which  arose  from  the  gardens  around. 

The  next  day,  we  went  into  the  Frankfort  wood.  Willis  and 
his  brother-in-law,  Charles  F.  Dennett,  of  Boston,  Dr.  Dix  and 
another  young  gentleman  from  the  same  city,  formed  the  party — 
six  Americans  in  all ;  we  walked  over  the  Main  and  through 
the  dirty  suburbs  of  Sachsenhausen,  where  we  met  many  peas- 
ants laden  with  the  first  day's  vintage,  and  crowds  of  people 
coming  down  from  the  vineyards.  As  we  ascended  the  hill,  the 
sound  of  firing  was  heard  in  every  direction,  and  from  many 
vineyards  arose  the  smoke  of  fires  where  groups  of  merry  chil- 
dren were  collecting  and  burning  the  rubbish.  We  became  lost 
among  the  winding  paths  of  the  pine  forest,  so  that  by  the  time 
we  came  ou.  upon  the  eminence  overlooking  the  valley  of  the 
Main,  it  was  quite  dark.     From  every  side,  far  and  near,  rockets 


THE  POET  FREILIGRATH.  79 

of  all  sizes  and  colors  darted  high  up  into  the  sky.  Sometimes 
a  flight  of  the  most  brilliant  crimson  and  gold  lights  rushed  up 
together,  then  again  by  some  farm-house  in  the  meadow,  the  vint- 
agers would  burn  a  Roman  candle,  throwing  its  powerful  white 
light  on  .he  gardens  and  fields  around.  We  stopped  under  a 
garden  wall,  by  which  a  laughing  company  were  assembled  in 
the  smoke  and  red  blaze,  and  watched  several  comets  go  hissing 
and  glancing  far  above  us.  The  cracking  of  ammunition  still 
continued,  and  when  we  came  again  upon  the  bridge,  the  city 
opposite  was  lighted  as  ii^  illuminated.  The  full  moon  had  just 
risen,  softening  and  mellowing  the  beautiful  scene,  while  beyond, 
over  the  tower  of  Frankfort,  rose  and  fell  the  meteors  that  her- 
alded the  vintage. 

Since  I  have  been  in  Frankfort,  an  event  has  occurred,  which 
shows  very  distinctly  the  principles  at  work  in  Germany,  and 
gives  us  some  foreboding  of  the  future.  Ferdinand  Freiligrath, 
the  fii*st  living  poet  with  the  exception  of  Uhland,  has  within  a 
few  weeks  published  a  volume  of  poems  entitled,  "My  Confes- 
sion of  Faith,  or  Poems  for  the  Times."  It  contains  some  thrill- 
ing appeals  to  the  free  spirit  of  the  German  people,  setting  forth 
the  injustice  under  which  they  labor,  in  simple  but  powerful  lan- 
guage, and  with  the  most  forcible  illustrations,  adapted  to  the 
comprehension  of  everyone.  Viewed  as  a  work  of  genius  alone, 
it  is  strikingly  powerful  and  original :  but  when  we  consider  the 
effect  it  is  producing  among  the  people — the  strength  it  will  add 
to  the  rising  tide  of  opposition  to  every  form  of  tyranny,  it  has 
a  still  higher  interest.  Freiligrath  had  three  or  four  years  be- 
fore, received  a  pension  of  three  hundred  thalers  from  the  Kinsf 
of  Prussia,  soon  after  his  accession  to  the  throne :  he  ceased  to 
draw  this  about  a  year  ago,  stating  in  the  preface  to  his  volume 
that  it  was  accepted  in  the  belief  the  King  would  adhere  to  his 
promise  of  giving  the  people  a  new  constitution,  but  that  now  since 
time  has  proved  there  is  no  dependence  to  be  placed  on  the 
King's  word,  he  must  speak  for  his  people  and  for  his  land. 

The  book  has  not  only  been  prohibited,  but  Freiligrath  has 
exiled  himself  voluntarily,  to  escape  imprisonment.  He  is  now 
in  Paris,  where  Heine  and  Herwegh,  two  of  Germany's  fin- 
est poets,  both  banished  for  the  same  reason,  are  living.     The 


80  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


free  spirit  which  characterises  these  men,  who  come  from 
among  the  people,  shows  plainly  the  tendency  of  the  times ;  and 
it  is  only  the  great  strength  with  which  tyranny  here  has  envi- 
roned himself,  and  the  almost  lethargic  slowness  of  the  Germans, 
which  has  prevented  a  change  ere  this. 

In  this  volume  of  Freiligrath's,  among  other  things,  is  a  trans- 
lation of  Bryant's  magnificent  poem  "  The  Winds,"  and  Burns's 
*'  A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that ;"  and  I  have  translated  one  of  his, 
as  a  specimen  of  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  written  • 

FREEDOM  AND  RIGHT. 

Oh  !  think  not  she  rests  in  the  grave's  chilly  slumber 

Nor  sheds  o'er  the  present  her  glorious  light, 
Since  Tyranny's  shackles  the  free  soul  incumber 

And  traitors  accusing,  deny  to  us  Right ! 
No  :  "whether  to  exile  the  sworn  ones  arc  wending, 
Or  weary  of  power  that  crushed  them  unending, 
In  dungeons  have  perished,  their  veins  madly  rending,* 

Yet  Freedom  still  livcth,  and  with  her,  the  Right ! 

Freedom  and  Right ! 

A  single  defeat  can  confuse  us  no  longer : 

It  adds  to  the  combat's  fast  gathering  might, 
It  bids  us  but  doubly  to  strviggle,  and  stronger 

To  raise  up  our  battle-cry — "  Freedom  and  Right !" 
For  the  Twain  know  a  union  forever  abiding, 
Together  in  Truth  and  in  majesty  striding ; 
Where  Right  is,  already  the  free  are  residing 

And  ever,  where  dwell  the  free,  governeth  Right ! 

Freedom  and  Right ! 

And  this  is  a  trust :  never  made,  as  at  present, 

The  glad  pair  from  battle  to  battle  their  flight ; 
Never  breathed  through  the  soul  of  the  down-trodden  peasant, 

Their  spirit  so  deeply  its  promptings  of  light ! 
They  sweep  o'er  the  earth  with  a  tempest-like  token  ; 
From  strand  unto  strand  words  of  thunder  are  spoken  ; 
Already  the  serf  finds  his  manacles  broken, 

And  those  of  the  negro  are  falling  from  sight 

Freedom  and  Right ! 

*  This  allusion  is  to  Weidig,  who,  imprisoned  for  years  at  Darmstadt  on 
account  of  his  political  principles,  ^nally  committed  suicide  by  cutting  his 
throat  with  the  glass  of  his  prison-window. 


"FREEDOM  AND  RIGHT.'»  81 

Yes,  avery  ■where  wide  is  their  war-banner  waving, 

On  the  armies  of  Wrong  their  revenge  to  requite : 
The  strength  of  Oppression  they  boldly  are  braving 

And  at  last  they  will  conquer,  resistless  in  might ! 
Oh,  God !  what  a  glorious  wreath  then  appearing 
Will  blend  every  leaf  in  the  banner  they're  bearing — 
The  olive  of  Greece  and  the  shamrock  of  Erin, 

And  the  oak-bough  of  Germany,  greenest  in  light ! 

Freedom  and  Right ! 

And  many  who  suffered,  are  now  calmly  sleeping, 
The  slumber  of  freemen,  borne  down  by  the  fight ; 

While  the  Twain  o'er^-their  graves  still  a  bright  watch  are  keeping, 
V/hom  we  bless  for  their  memories — Freedom  and  Right ! 

Meanwhile  lift  your  glasses !  to  those  who  have  striven ! 

And  striving  with  bold  hearts,  to  misery  were  driven ! 

Who  fought  for  the  Right  and  but  Wrong  then  were  given ! 
To  Right,  the  immortal — to  Freedom  through  Right  I 

Freedom  through  Right  I 


82  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


A   WEEK   AMONG    THE    STUDENTS. 


Receiving  a  letter  from  my  cousin  one  bright  December  morn- 
ing, the  idea  of  visiting  him  struck  me,  and  so,  within  an  hour, 

B and  I  were  on  our  way  to  Heidelberg.     It  was  delightful 

weather ;  the  air  was  mild  as  the  early  days  of  spring,  the  pine 
forests  around  wore  a  softer  green,  and  though  the  sun  was  but  a 
hand's  breadth  high,  even  at  noon,  it  was  quite  warm  on  the  open 
road.  We  stopped  for  the  night  at  Bensheim  ;  the  next  morning 
was  as  dark  as  a  cloudy  day  in  the  north  can  be,  wearing  a  heavy 
gloom  I  never  saw  elsewhere.  The  wind  blew  the  snow  down 
from  the  summits  upon  us,  but  being  warm  from  walking,  we 
did  not  heed  it.  The  mountains  looked  higher  than  in  summer, 
and  the  old  castles  more  grim  and  frowning.  From  the  hard  roads 
and  freezing  wind,  my  feet  became  very  sore,  and  after  limping 
along  in  excruciating  pain  for  a  league  or  two,  I  filled  my  boots 
with  brandy,  which  deadened  the  wounds  so  much,  that  I  was  en- 
abled to  go  on  in  a  kind  of  trot,  which  I  kept  up,  only  stopping 
ten  minutes  to  dinner,  till  we  reached  Heidelberg. 

The  same  evening  there  was  to  be  a  general  commers,  or  meet- 
ing of  the  societies  among  the  students,  and  I  determined  not  to 
omit  witnessing  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  characteristic  fea- 
tures of  student-life.  So  borrowing  a  cap  and  coat,  I  looked  the 
student  well  enough  to  pass  for  one  of  them,  though  the  former 
article  was  somewhat  of  the  Philister  form.  Baader,  a  young 
poet  of  some  note,  and  president  of  the  "  Palatia"  Society,  hav- 
ing promised  to  take  us  there,  we  met  at  eight  o'clock  at  an  inn 
frequented  by  the  students,  and  went  to  the  rendezvous,  near  the 
Markt  Platz. 

A  confused  sound  of  voices  came  from  the  inn,  as  we  drew 
near ;  groups  of  students  were  standing  around  the  door.     In  the 


A  STUDENTS'   COMMERS.  83 

entry  we  saw  the  Red  Fisherman,  one  of  the  most  conspicuous 
characters  about  the  University.  He  is  a  small,  stout  man,  with 
bare  neck  and  breast,  red  hair,  whence  his  name,  and  a  strange 
mixture  of  roughness  and  benevolence  in  his  countenance.  He 
has  saved  many  persons  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life,  from  drown- 
ing in  the  Neckar,  and  on  that  account  is  leniently  dealt  with  by 
ihe  faculty  whenever  he  is  arrested  for  assisting  the  students  in 
tiny  of  their  unlawful  proceedings.  Entering  the  room  I  could 
scarcely  see  at  first,  on  account  of  the  smoke  that  ascended  from 
a  hundred  pipes.  All  was  noise  and  confusion.  Near  the  door 
sat  some  half  dozen  musicians  who  were  getting  their  instruments 
ready  for  action,  and  the  long  room  was  filled  with  tables,  all  of 
which  seemed  to  be  full  and  the  students  were  still  pressing  in. 
The  tables  were  covered  with  great  stone  jugs  and  long  beer 
glasses;  the  students  were  talking  and  shouting  and  drinking. — 
One  who  appeared  to  have  the  arrangement  of  the  meeting,  found 
seats  for  us  together,  and  having  made  a  slight  acquaintance  with 
those  sitting  next  us,  we  felt  more  at  liberty  to  witness  their  pro- 
ceedings. They  were  all  talking  in  a  sociable,  friendly  way,  and 
I  saw  no  one  who  appeared  to  be  intoxicated.  The  beer  was  a 
weak  mixture,  which  I  should  think  would  make  one  fall  over 
from  its  weisJit  before  it  would  intoxicate  him.  Those  sittino; 
near  me  drank  but  little,  and  that  principally  to  make  or  return 
compliments.  One  or  two  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  were  more 
boisterous,  and  more  than  one  glass  was  overturned  on  the  legs 
below  it.  Leaves  containing  the  songs  for  the  evening  lay  at 
each  seat,  and  at  the  head,  where  the  President  sat,  were  two 
swords  crossed,  with  which  he  occasionally  struck  upon  the  table 
to  preserve  order.  Our  President  was  a  fine,  romantic-looking 
young  man,  dressed  in  the  old  German  costume,  which  is  far 
handsomer  than  the  modern.  I  ;iever  saw  in  any  company  of 
young  men,  so  many  handsome,  manly  countenances.  If  their 
faces  were  any  index  of  their  characters,  there  were  many  noble, 
free  souls  among  them.  Nearly  opposite  to  me  sat  a  young  poet, 
whose  dark  eyes  flashed  with  feeling  as  he  spoke  to  those  near 
him.  After  some  tiine  passed  in  talking  and  drinking  together, 
varied  by  an  occasional  air  from  the  musicians,  the  President 
beat  order  with  the  sword,  and  the  whole  company  joined  in  one 


84  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


of  their  glorious  songs,  to  a  melody  at  the  same  time  joyous  and 
solemn.  Swelled  by  so  many  manly  voices  it  rose  up  like  a 
hymn  of  triumph — all  other  sounds  were  stilled.  Three  times 
during  the  singing  all  rose  up,  clashed  their  glasses  together 
around  the  tables  and  drank  to  their  Fatherland,  a  health  and 
blessing  to  the  patriot,  and  honor  to  those  who  struggle  in  the 
cause  of  freedom,  at  the  close  thundering  out  their  motto : 

"  Fearless  in  strife,  to  the  banner  still  true !" 

After  this  song  the  same  order  as  before  was  continued,  except 
that  students  from  the  different  societies  made  short  speeches, 
accompanied  by  some  toast  or  sentiment.  One  spoke  of  Germany 
— predicting  that  all  her  dissensions  would  be  overcome,  and  she 
would  rise  up  at  last,  like  a  phoenix  among  the  nations  of  Europe; 
and  at  the  close  gave  '  strong,  united,  regenerated  Germany  !' 
Instantly  all  sprang  to  their  feet,  and  clashing  the  glasses  together, 
gave  a  thundering  "  hoch  .'"  This  enthusiasm  for  their  country 
is  one  of  the  strongest  characteristics  of  the  German  students ; 
they  have  ever  been  first  in  the  field  for  her  freedom,  and  on  them 
mainly  depends  her  future  redemption. 

Cloths  were  passed  around,  the  tables  wiped  off,  and  prepara- 
tions made  to  sing  the  "  Landsfather^'  or  consecration  song.  This 
is  one  of  the  most  important  and  solemn  of  their  ceremonies, 
since  by  performing  it  the  new  students  are  made  hurschen,  and 
the  bands  of  brotherhood  continually  kept  fresh  and  sacred. 
All  became  still  a  moment,  then  they  commenced  the  lofty 
song : 

"  Silent  bending,  each  one  lending 

To  the  solemn  tones  his  ear, 
Hark,  the  song  of  songs  is  sounding — 
Back  from  joyful  choir  resounding, 

Hear  it,  German  brothers,  hear ! 

"  German  proudly,  raise  it  loudly, 

Singing  of  your  fatherland — 
Fatherland !  thou  land  of  story. 
To  the  altars  of  thy  glory 

Consecrate  us,  sword  in  hand ! 


THE  LANDSFATHER.  86 

"  Take  tlie  beaker,  pleasure  seeker, 

With  thy  country's  drink  brimmed  o'er ! 
In  thy  left  the  sword  is  blinking, 
Pierce  it  through  the  cap,  while  drinking 
To  thy  Fatherland  once  more  !'^ 

With  the  first  line  of  the  last  stanza,  the  Presidents  sitting  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  take  their  glasses  in  their  right  hands,  and  at 
the  third  line,  the  sword  in  their  left,  at  the  end  striking  their 
glasses  together  and  drinking. 

"  In  left  hand  gleaming,  thou  art  beaming, 

Sword  from  all  dishonor  free  ! 
Thus  I  pierce  the  cap,  while  swearing, 
It  in  honor  ever  wearing, 

I  a  valiant  Bursch  will  be !" 

They  clash  their  swords  together  till  the  third  line  is  sung, 
when  each  takes  his  cap,  and  piercing  the  point  of  the  sword 
through  the  crown,  draws  it  down  to  the  guard.  Leaving  their 
caps  on  the  swords,  the  Presidents  stand  behind  the  two  next  stu- 
dents, who  go  through  the  same  ceremony,  receiving  the  swords 
at  the  appropriate  time,  and  giving  it  back  loaded  with  their  caps 
also.  This  ceremony  is  going  on  at  every  table  at  the  same  time. 
These  two  stanzas  are  repeated  for  every  pair  of  students,  till  all 
have  gone  through  with  it,  and  the  Presidents  have  arrived  at  the 
bottom  of  the  table,  with  their  swords  strung  full  of  caps.  Here 
they  exchange  swords,  while  all  sing : 

"  Come  thou  bright  sword,  now  made  holy, 

Of  free  men  the  weapon  free ; 
Bring  it  solemnly  and  slowly, 

Heavy  with  pierced  caps,  to  me  ! 
From  its  burden  now  divest  it ; 

Brothers  be  ye  covered  all, 

And  till  our  next  festival, 
Hallowed  and  unspotted  rest  it ! 

"  Up,  ye  feast  companions !  ever 
Honor  ye  our  holy  band ! 
And  with  heart  and  soul  endeavor 
E'er  as  high-souled  men  to  stand  ! 


86  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Up  to  feast,  ye  men  united ! 

Worthy  be  your  fathers'  fame, 

And  the  sword  may  no  one  claim, 
Who  to  honor  is  not  plighted !" 

Then  each  President,  taking  a  cap  off  his  sword,  reached  it  to 
the  student  opposite,  and  they  crossed  their  swords,  the  ends 
resting  on  the  two  students'  heads,  while  they  sang  the  next 
stanza : 

"  So  take  it  back ;  thy  head  I  now  will  cover 
And  stretch  the  bright  sword  over. 
Live  also  then  this  Bursche,  hoch  ! 
W  herever  we  may  meet  him, 
Will  we.  as  Brother  greet  him — 
Live  also  this,  our  Brother,  hoch  P 

This  ceremony  was  repeated  till  all  the  caps  were  given 
back,  and  they  then  concluded  with  the  following: 

'•Rest,  the  Burschen-feast  is  over, 

Hallowed  sword  and  thou  art  free  ! 
Each  one  strive  a  valiant  lover 

Of  his  fatherland  to  be ! 
Hail  to  him,  who,  glory-haunted. 

Follows  still  his  fathers  bold ; 

And  the  sword  may  no  one  hold 
But  the  noble  and  undaunted  !" 

The  Landsfather  being  over,  the  students  were  less  orderly  ; 
the  smoking  and  drinking  began  again  and  we  left,  as  it  was 
already  eleven  o'clock,  glad  to  breathe  the  pure  cold  air. 

In  the  University  I  heard  Gervinus,  who  was  formerly  profes- 
sor in  Gottingen,  but  was  obliged  to  leave  on  account  of  his  lib- 
eral principles.  He  is  much  liked  by  the  students  and  his  lec- 
tures are  very  well  attended.  They  had  this  winter  a  torchlight 
procession  in  honor  of  him.  He  is  a  stout,  round-faced  man, 
speaks  very  fast,  and  makes  them  laugh  continually  with  his 
witty  remarks.  In  the  room  I  saw  a  son  of  Riickert,  the  poet,  with 
a  face  strikingly  like  his  father's.  The  next  evening  I  went  to 
hear  Schlosser,  the  great  historian.  Among  his  pupils  are  the 
two  princes  of  Baden,  who  are  now  at  the  University.  He  ^ame 
hurriedly  in,    threw  down  his   portfolio  and    began   instantljr   to 


A  DUE]..  87 


speak.  He  is  an  old,  gray-headed  man,  but  still  active  and  full 
of  energy.  The  Germans  find  him  exceedingly  difficult  to  un- 
derstand, as  he  is  said  to  use  the  English  construction  almost  en- 
tirely ;  for  this  reason,  perhaps,  I  understood  him  quite  easily. 
He  lectures  on  the  French  Revolution,  but  is  engaged  in  writing 
a  Universal   History,  the  first  numbers  of  which  are  published. 

Two  or  three  days  after,  we  heard  that  a  duel  was  to  take 
place  at  Neuenheim,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Neckar,  where 
the  students  have  a  house  hired  for  that  purpose.  In  order  to 
witness  the  spectacle,  we  started  immediately  with  two  or  three 
students.  Along  the  road  were  stationed  old  women,  at  inter- 
vals, as  guards,  to  give  notice  of  the  approach  of  the  police,  and 
from  these  we  learned  that  one  duel  had  already  been  fought, 
and  they  were  preparing  for  the  other.  The  Red  Fisherman 
was  busy  in  an  outer  room  grinding  the  swords,  which  are  made 
as  sharp  as  razors.  In  the  large  room  some  forty  or  fifty  stu- 
dents were  walking  about,  while  the  parties  were  preparing. 
This  was  done  by  taking  off  the  coat  and  vest  and  binding  a  great 
thick  leather  garment  on,  which  reached  from  the  breast  to  the 
knees,  completely  protecting  the  body.  They  then  put  on  a 
leather  glove  reaching  nearly  to  the  shoulder,  tied  a  thick  cravat 
around  the  throat,  and  drew  on  a  cap  with  a  large  vizor.  This 
done,  they  were  walked  about  the  room  a  short  time,  the  seconds 
holding  out  their  arms  to  strengthen  them ;  their  faces  all  this 
time  betrayed  considerable  anxiety. 

All  being  ready,  the  seconds  took  their  stations  immediately 
behind  them,  each  armed  with  a  sword,  and  gave  the  words: 
^^  ready — hind  your  weapons — loose  .'"  They  instantly  sprang  at 
each  other,  exchanged  two  or  three  blows,  when  the  seconds 
cried  "  halt !"  and  struck  their  swords  up.  Twenty-four  rounds 
of  this  kind  ended  the  duel,  without  either  being  hurt,  though  the 
cap  of  one  of  them  was  cut  through  and  his  forehead  grazed. 
All  their  duels  do  not  end  so  fortunately,  however,  as  the  fright- 
ful scars  on  the  faces  of  many  of  those  present,  testified.  It  is  a 
gratification  to  know  that  but  a  small  portion  of  the  students  keep 
up  this  barbarous  custom.  The  great  body  is  opposed  to  it ;  in 
Heidelberg,  four  societies,  comprising  more  than  one  half  the 
students,  have  been  formed  against  it.     A  strong  desire  for  such 


88  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


a  reform  seems   to   prevail,   and  the   custom  will    probably  be 
totally  discontinued  in  a  short  time. 

This  view  of  the  student-life  was  very  interesting  to  me  ;  it 
appeared  in  a  much  better  light  than  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
view  it.  Their  peculiar  customs,  except  duelling  and  drinking, 
of  course,  may  be  the  better  tolerated  when  we  consider  their 
effect  on  the  liberty  of  Germany.  It  is  principally  through  them 
that  a  free  spirit  is  kept  alive ;  they  have  ever  been  foremost  to 
rise  up  for  their  Fatherland,  and  bravest  in  its  defence.  And 
though  many  of  their  customs  have  so  often  been  held  up  to  ridi- 
cule, among  no  other  class  can  one  find  warmer,  truer  or  braver 
hearts. 


MY  EXPENSES.  89 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

CHRISTMAS   AND    NEW    YEAR    IN    GERMANY. 

Jan.  2, 1845. — I  have  lately  been  computing  how  much  my 
travels  have  cost  me  up  to  the  present  time,  and  how  long  I  can 
remain  abroad  to  continue  the  pilgrimage,  with  my  present  ex- 
pectations. The  result  has  been  most  encouraging  to  my  plan. 
Before  leaving  home,  1  wrote  to  several  gentlemen  who  had 
visited  Europe,  requesting  the  probable  expense  of  travel  and 
residence  abroad.  They  sent  different  accounts  ;  E.  Joy  Morris 
said  I  must  calculate  to  spend  at  least  $1500  a  year;  another 
suggested  $1000,  and  the  most  moderate  of  all,  said  that  it  was 
impossihle  to  live  in  Europe  a  year  on  less  than  $500.  Now,  six 
months  have  elapsed  since  I  left  home — six  months  of  greater 
pleasure  and  profit  than  any  year  of  my  former  life — and  my 
expenses,  in  full,  amount  to  $130!  This,  however,  nearly  ex- 
hausts the  limited  sum  with  which  I  started,  but  through  the 
kindness  of  the  editorial  friends  who  have  been  publishing  my 
sketches  of  travel,  I  trust  to  receive  a  remittance  shortly.  Print- 
ing is  a  business  attended  with  so  little  profit  here,  as  there  are 
already  so  many  workmen,  that  it  is  almost  useless  for  a  stranger 
to  apply.  Besides,  after  a  tough  grapple,  1  am  just  beginning  to 
master  the  language,  and  it  seems  so  necessary  to  devote  every 
minute  to  study,  that  I  would  rather  undergo  some  privation,  than 
neglect  turning  these  fleeting  hours  into  gold,  for  the  miser  Mem- 
ory to  stow  away  in  the  treasure-vaults  of  the  mind. 

We  have  lately  witnessed  the  most  beautiful  and  interesting 
of  all  German  festivals — Christmas.  This  is  here  peculiarly 
celebrated.  About  the  commencement  of  December,  the  Christ- 
markt  or  fair,  was  opened  in  the  Rcsmerberg,  and  has  continued 
to  the  present  time.  The  booths,  decorated  with  green  boughs, 
were  filled  with  toys  of  various  kinds,  among  which  during  the 


90  VIEWS    A-FOOT. 


first  days  the  figure  of  St.  Nicholas  was  conspicuous.  There 
were  bunches  of  wax  candles  to  illuminate  the  Christmas  tree, 
gingerbread  with  printed  mottos  in  poetry,  beautiful  little  earth- 
enware, basket-work,  and  a  wilderness  of  playthings.  The  5th 
of  December,  being  Nicholas  evening,  the  booths  were  lighted 
up,  and  the  square  was  filled  with  boys,  running  from  one  stand 
to  another,  all  shouting  and  talking  together  in  the  most  joyous 
confusion.  Nurses  were  going  around,  carrying  the  smaller 
children  in  their  arms,  and  parents  bought  presents  decorated 
with  sprigs  of  pine  and  carried  them  away.  Some  of  the  shops 
had  beautiful  toys,  as  for  instance,  a  whole  grocery  store  in 
miniature,  with  barrels,  boxes  and  drawers,  all  filled  with  sweet- 
meats, a  kitchen  with  a  stove  and  all  suitable  utensils,  which 
could  really  be  used,  and  sets  of  dishes  of  the  most  diminutive 
patterns.     All  was  a  scene  of  activity  and  joyous  feeling. 

Many  of  the  tables  had  bundles  of  rods  with  gilded  bands, 
which  were  to  be  used  that  evening  by  the  persons  who  repre- 
sented St.  Nicholas.  In  the  family  with  whom  we  reside,  one  of 
our  German  friends  dressed  himself  very  comically,  with  a  mask, 
fur  robe  and  long  tapering  cap.  He  came  in  with  a  bunch  of 
rods  and  a  sack,  and  a  broom  for  a  sceptre.  After  we  all  had 
received  our  share  of  the  beating,  he  threw  the  contents  of  his 
bag  on  the  table,  and  while  we  were  scrambling  for  the  nuts  and 
apples,  gave  us  many  smart  raps  over  the  fingers.  In  many  fam- 
ilies the  children  are  made  to  say,  '•  I  thank  you,  Herr  Nico- 
laus,"  and  the  rods  are  hung  up  in  the  room  till  Christmas  to 
keep  them  in  good  behavior.  This  was  only  a  forerunner  of  the 
Christ-kindchen's  coming.  The  Nicolaus  is  the  punishing  spirit, 
the  Christ-kindchen  the  rewarding  one. 

When  this  time  was  over,  we  all  began  preparing  secretly  our 
presents  for  Christmas.  Every  day  there  were  consultations 
about  the  things  which  should  be  obtained.  It  was  so  arranged 
that  all  should  interchange  presents,  but  nobody  must  know  be- 
forehand what  he  would  receive.  What  pleasure  there  was  in 
all  these  secret  purchases  and  preparations  !  Scarcely  anything 
was  thought  or  spoken  of  but  Christmas,  and  every  day  the  con- 
sultations became  more  numerous  and  secret.  The  trees  were 
bought  sometime  beforehand,  but  as  we  were  to  witness  the  festi- 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE.  91 

val  for  the  first  time,  we  were  not  allowed  to  see  them  prepared, 
in  order  that  the  effect  might  be  as  great  as  possible.  The  mar- 
ket in  the  Roemerberg  Square  grew  constantly  larger  and  more 
brilliant.  Every  night  it  was  lit  up  with  lamps  and  thronged 
with  people.  Quite  a  forest  sprang  up  in  the  street  before  our 
door.  The  old  stone  house  opposite,  with  the  traces  of  so  many 
centuries  on  its  dark  face,  seemed  to  stand  in  the  midst  of  a  gar- 
den. It  was  a  pleasure  to  go  out  every  evening  and  see  the  chil- 
dren rushing  to  and  fro,  shouting  and  seeking  out  toys  from  the 
booths,  and  talking  all  the  time  of  the  Christmas  that  was  so 
near.  The  poor  people  went  by  with  their  little  presents  hid  un- 
der their  cloaks,  lest  their  children  might  see  them ;  every  heart 
was  glad  and  every  countenance  wore  a  smile  of  secret  pleasure. 
Finally  the  day  before  Christmas  arrived.  The  streets  were 
so  full  I  could  scarce  make  my  way  through,  and  the  sale  of 
trees  went  on  more  rapidly  than  ever.  These  were  commonly 
branches  of  pine  or  fir,  set  upright  in  a  little  miniafure  garden 
of  moss.  When  the  lamps  were  lighted  at  night,  our  street  had 
the  appearance  of  an  illuminated  garden.  We  were  prohibited 
frofii  entering  the  rooms  up  stairs  in  which  the  grand  ceremony 
was  to  take  place,  being  obliged  to  take  our  seats  in  those  ar- 
ranged for  the  guests,  and  wait  with  impatience  the  hour  when 
Christ-kindchen  should  call.  Several  relations  of  the  family 
came,  and  what  was  more  agreeable,  they  brought  with  them  five 
or  six  children.  I  was  anxious  to  see  how  they  would  view  the 
ceremony.  Finally,  in  the  middle  of  an  interesting  conversation, 
we  heard  the  bell  ringing  up  stairs.  We  all  started  up,  and 
made  for  the  door.  I  ran  up  the  steps  with  the  children  at  my 
heels,  and  at  the  top  met  a  blaze  of  light  coming  from  the  open 
door,  that  dazzled  me.  In  each  room  stood  a  great  table,  on 
which  the  presents  were  arranged,  amid  flowers  and  wreaths. 
From  the  centre,  rose  the  beautiful  Christmas  tree  covered  with 
wax  tapers  to  the  very  top,  which  made  it  nearly  as  light  as  day, 
while  every  bough  was  hung  with  sweetmeats  and  gilded  nuts. 
The  children  ran  shouting  around  the  table,  hunting  their  pres- 
ents, while  the  older  persons  had  theirs  pointed  out  to  them.  I 
had  quite  a  little  library  of  German  authors  as  my  share  ;  and 
many  of  the  others  received  quite  valuable  gifts. 


92  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


But  how  beautiful  was  the  heart-felt  joy  that  shone  on  every 
countenance  !  As  each  one  discovered  he  embraced  the  givers, 
and  all  was  a  scene  of  the  purest  feelings.  It  is  a  glorious  feast, 
this  Christmas  time  !  What  a  chorus  from  happy  hearts  went  up 
on  that  evening  to  Heaven !  Full  of  poetry  and  feeling  and 
glad  associations,  it  is  here  anticipated  with  joy,  and  leaves  a 
pleasant  memory  behind  it.  We  may  laugh  at  such  simple  festi- 
vals at  home,  and  prefer  to  shake  ourselves  loose  from  every 
shackle  that  bears  the  rust  of  the  Past,  but  we  would  certainly 
be  happier  if  some  of  these  beautiful  old  customs  were  better 
honored.  They  renew  the  bond  of  feeling  between  families  and 
friends,  and  strengthen  their  kindly  sympathy  ;  even  life-long 
friends  require  occasions  of  this  kind  to  freshen  the  wreath  that 
binds  them  together. 

New  Year's  Eve  is  also  favored  with  a  peculiar  celebration  in 
Germany.  Every  body  remains  up  and  makes  himself  merry 
till  midnight.  The  Christmas  trees  are  again  lighted,  and  while 
the  tapers  are  burning  down,  the  family  play  for  articles  which 
they  have  purchased  and  hung  on  the  boughs.  It  is  so  arranged 
that  each  one  shall  win  as  much  as  he  gives,  which  change  of 
articles  makes  much  amusement.  One  of  the  ladies  rejoiced  in 
the  possession  of  a  red  silk  handkerchief  and  a  cake  of  soap, 
while  a  cup  and  saucer  and  a  pair  of  scissors  fell  to  my  lot ! 
As  midnight  drew  near,  it  was  louder  in  the  streets,  and  compa- 
nies of  people,  some  of  them  singing  in  chorus,  passed  by  on  their 
way  to  the  Zeil.  Finally  three-quarters  struck,  the  windows 
were  opened  and  every  one  waited  anxiously  for  the  clock  to 
strike.  At  the  first  sound,  such  a  cry  arose  as  one  may  imagine, 
when  thirty  or  forty  thousand  persons  all  set  their  lungs  going 
at  once.  Every  body  in  the  house,  in  the  street,  over  the  whole 
city,  shouted,  "  Prosst  Neu  Jahr  f  In  families,  all  the  mem- 
bers embrace  each  other,  with  wishes  of  happiness  for  the  new 
year.  'Then  the  windows  are  thrown  open,  and  they  cry  to  their 
neighbors  or  those  passing  by. 

After  we  had  exchanged  congratulations,  Dennett,  B and 

I  set  out  for  the  Zeil.  The  streets  were  full  of  people,  shouting 
to  one  another  and  to  those  standing  at  the  open  windows.  We 
failed  not  to  cry,  "  Prosst  Neu  Jahr  V  wherever  we  saw  a  dam- 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE.  93 


sel  at  the  window,  and  the  words  came  back  to  us  more  music- 
ally than  we  sent  them.  Along  the  Zeil  the  spectacle  was  most 
singular.  The  great  wide  street  was  filled  with  companies  of 
men,  marching  up  and  down,  while  from  the  mass  rang  up  one 
deafening,  unending  shout,  that  seemed  to  pierce  the  black  sky- 
above.  The  whole  scene  looked  stranger  and  wilder  from  the 
flickering  light  of  the  swinging  lamps,  and  I  could  not  help 
thinking  it  must  resemble  a  night  in  Paris  during  the  French 
Revolution.  We  joined  the  crowd  ana  used  our  lungs  as  well 
as  any  of  them.  For  some  time  after  we  returned  home,  com- 
panics  passed  by,  singing  "  with  us  'tis  ever  so !"  but  at  three 
o'clock  all  was  again  silent. 


94  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

WINTER    IN    FRANKFORT A    FAIR,    AN    INUNDATION    AND    A    FIRE. 

After  New  Year,  the  Main,  just  above  the  city,  and  the  lakes 
in  the  promenades,  were  frozen  over.  The  ice  was  tried  by  the 
police,  and  having  been  found  of  sufficient  thickness,  to  the  great 
joy  of  the  schoolboys,  permission  was  given  to  skate.  The  lakes 
were  soon  covered  with  merry  skaters,  and  every  afternoon  the 
banks  were  crowded  with  spectators.  It  was  a  lively  sight  lo 
see  two  or  three  hundred  persons  darting  about,  turning  and 
crossing  like  a  flock  of  crows,  while,  by  means  of  arm-chairs 
mounted  on  runners,  the  ladies  were  enabled  to  join  in  the  sport, 
and  whirl  around  among  them.  Some  of  the  broad  meadows 
near  the  city,  which  were  covered  with  water,  were  the  resort  of 
the  schools.  I  went  there  often  in  my  walks,  and  always  found 
two  or  three  schools,  with  the  teachers,  all  skating  together,  and 
playing  their  winter  games  on  the  ice.  I  have  often  seen  them 
on  the  meadows  along  the  Main  ;  the  teachers  generally  made 
quite  as  much  noise  as  the  scholars  in  their  sports. 

In  the  Art  Institute  I  saw  the  picture  of  "  Huss  before  the 
Council  of  Constance,"  by  the  painter  Lessing.  It  contains  up- 
wards of  twenty  figures.  The  artist  has  shown  the  greatest  skill 
in  the  expression  and  grouping  of  these.  Bishops  and  Cardinals 
in  their  splendid  robes  are  seated  around  a  table,  covered  with 
parchment  folios,  and  before  them  stands  Huss  alone.  His  face, 
pale  and  thin  with  long  imprisonment,  he  has  lain  one  hand  on 
his  breast,  while  with  the  other  he  has  grasped  one  of  the  vol- 
umes on  the  table ;  there  is  an  air  of  majesty,  of  heavenly  se- 
renity on  his  lofty  forehead  and  calm  eye.  One  feels  instinc- 
tively that  he  has  truth  on  his  side.  There  can  be  no  deception, 
no  falsehood  in  those  noble  features.  The  three  Italian  cardinals 
before  him  appear  to  be  full   of  passionate  rage ;  the  bishop  in 


THE  ESCHERNHEIM  TOWER.  95 

front,  who  holds  the  imperial  pass  given  to  Huss,  looks  on  with  an 
expression  of  scorn,  and  the  priests  around  have  an  air  of  min- 
gled curiosity  and  hatred.  There  is  one,  however,  in  whose  mild 
features  and  tearful  eye  is  expressed  sympathy  and  pity  for  the 
prisoner.  It  is  said  this  picture  has  had  a  great  effect  upon 
Catholics  who  have  seen  it,  in  softening  the  bigotry  with  which 
they  regarded  the  early  reformers  ;  and  if  so,  it  is  a  triumphant 
proof  how  much  art  can  effect  in  the  cause  of  truth  and  humanity. 
1  was  much  interested  in  a  cast  of  the  statue  of  St.  George, 
by  the  old  Italian  sculptor  Donatello.  It  is  a  figure  full  of  youth 
and  energy,  with  a  countenance  that  seems  to  breathe.  Dona- 
tello was  the  teacher  of  Michael  Angelo,  and  when  the  young 
sculptor  was  about  setting  off  for  Rome,  he  showed  him  the  staiue, 
his  favorite  work.  Michael  gazed  at  it  long  and  intensely,  and 
at  length,  on  parting,  said  to  Donatello,  "  It  wants  but  one  thing." 
The  artist  pondered  long  over  this  expression,  for  he  could  not 
imagine  in  what  could  fail  the  matchless  figure.  At  length,  after 
many  years,  Michael  Angelo,  in  the  noon  of  his  renown,  visited 
the  death-bed  of  his  old  master.  Donatello  begijed  to  know,  be- 
fore  he  died,  what  was  wanting  to  his  St.  George.  Angelo  an- 
swered, "  the  gift  of  speech  V  and  a  smile  of  triumph  lighted  the 
old  man's  face,  as  he  closed  his  eyes  forever. 

The  Eschernheim  Tower,  at  the  entrance  of  one  of  the  city 
gates,  is  universally  admired  by  strangers,  on  account  of  its  pic- 
turesque appearance,  overgrown  with  ivy  and  terminated  by  the 
little  pointed  turrets,  which  one  sees  so  often  in  Germany,  on 
buildings  three  or  four  centuries  old.  There  are  five  other  watch 
towers  of  similar  form,  which  stand  on  different  sides  of  the  city, 
at  the  distance  of  a  mile  or  two,  and  generally  upon  an  eminence 
overlooking  the  country .  They  were  erected  several  centuries 
ago,  to  discern  from  afar  the  approach  of  an  enemy,  and  protect 
the  caravans  of  merchants,  which  at  that  time  travelled  from  city 
to  city,  from  the  attacks  of  robbers.  The  Eschernheim  Tower  is 
interesting  from  another  circunistance,  which,  whether  true  or 
not,  is  universally  believed.  When  Frankfort  was  under  the 
sway  of  a  prince,  a  Swiss  hunter,  for  some  civil  offence,  was 
condemned  to  die.  He  begged  his  life  from  the  prince,  who 
granted  it  only  on  condition  that  he  should  fire  the  figure  9  with 


96  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


his  rifle  through  the  vane  of  this  tower.  He  agreed,  and  did  it ; 
and  at  tlie  present  time,  one  can  distinguish  a  rude  9  on  the  vane, 
as  if  cut  with  bullets,  while  two  or  three  marks  at  the  side  appear 
to  be  from  shots  that  failed. 

The  promise  of  spring  which  lately  visited  us,  was  not  destined 
for  fulfilment.  Shortly  afterwards  it  grew  cold  again,  with  a  suc- 
cession of  snows  and  sharp  northerly  winds.  Such  weather  at 
the  commencement  of  spring  is  not  uncommon  at  home  ;  but  here 
they  say  there  has  not  been  such  a  winter  known  for  150  years. 
In  the  north  of  Prussia  many  persons  have  been  starved  to  death 
on  account  of  provisions  becoming  scarce.  Among  the  Hartz 
also,  the  suffering  is  very  great.  We  saw  something  of  the  mis- 
ery even  here.  It  was  painful  to  walk  through  the  streets  and 
see  so  many  faces  bearing  plainly  the  marks  of  want,  so  many 
pale,  hollow-eyed  creatures,  with  suffering  written  on  every  fea- 
ture. We  were  assailed  wdth  petitions  for  help  which  could  not 
be  relieved,  though  it  pained  and  saddened  the  heart  to  deny.  The 
women,  too,  labor  like  brutes,  day  after  day.  Many  of  them 
appear  cheerful  and  contented,  and  are  no  doubt,  tolerably  happy, 
for  the  Germans  have  all  true,  warm  hearts,  and  are  faithful  to 
one  another,  as  far  as  poverty  will  permit ;  but  one  cannot  see 
old,  gray-headed  women,  carrying  loads  on  their  heads  as  heavy 
as  themselves,  exposed  to  all  kinds  of  weather  and  working  from 
morning  till  night,  without  pity  and  indignation. 

So  unusually  severe  has  been  the  weather,  that  the  deer  and 
liares  in  the  mountains  near,  came  nearly  starved  and  tamed 
down  by  hunger,  into  the  villages  to  hunt  food.  The  people  fed 
them  every  day,  and  also  carried  grain  into  the  fields  for  the  par- 
tridges and  pheasants,  who  flew  up  to  them  like  domestic  fowls. 
The  poor  ravens  made  me  really  sorry  ;  some  lay  dead  in  the 
fields  and  many  came  into  the  city  perfectly  tame,  flying  along  the 
Main  with  wings  hardly  strong  enough  to  bear  up  their  skeleton 
bodies.  The  storks  came  at  the  usual  time,  but  went  back  again. 
I  hope  Ihe  year's  blessing  has  not  departed  with  them,  according 
to  the  olid  German  superstition. 

March  26. — We  have  hopes  of  spring  at  last.  Three  days 
ago  the  rain  began  and  has  continued  with  little  intermission  till 
now.     The  air  is  warm,  the  snow  goes  fast,  and  every  thing 


TflE  FRANKFORT  FAIR.  97 

seems  to  announce  that  the  long  winter  is  breaking  up.  The 
Main  rises  fast,  and  goes  by  the  city  like  an  arrow,  whirling  large 
masses  of  ice  upon  the  banks.  The  hills  around  are  coming  out 
from  under  the  snow,  and  the  lilac-buds  in  the  promenades  begin 
to  expand  for  the  second  time. 

The  Fair  has  now  commenced  in  earnest,  and  it  is  a  most  sin- 
gular and  interesting  sight.  The  open  squares  are  filled  with 
booths,  leaving  narrow  streets  between  them,  across  which  can- 
vas is  spread.  Every  booth  is  open  and  filled  with  a  dazzling 
display  of  wares  of  all  kinds.  Merchants  assemble  from  all 
parts  of  Europe.  The  Bohemians  come  with  their  gorgeous 
crystal  ware  ;  the  Nurembergers  with  their  toys,  quaint  and  fan- 
ciful as  the  old  city  itself;  men  from  the  Thuringian  forest,  with 
minerals  and  canes,  and  traders  from  Berlin,  Vienna,  Paris  and 
Switzerland,  with  dry  goods  and  wares  of  all  kinds.  Near  the 
Exchange  are  two  or  three  companies  of  Tyrolese,  who  attract 
much  of  my  attention.  Their  costume  is  exceedingly  picturesque. 
The  men  have  all  splendid  manly  figures,  and  honor  and  bravery 
are  written  on  their  countenances.  One  of  the  girls  is  a  really 
handsome  mountain  maiden,  and  with  her  pointed,  broad-brimmed 
Mack  hat,  as  romantic  looking  as  one  could  desire.  The  musi- 
cians have  arrived,  and  we  are  entertained  the  whole  day  long  by 
wandering  bands,  some  of  whom  play  finely.  The  best,  which 
is  also  the  favorite  company,  is  from  Saxony,  called  "  The  Moun- 
tain Boys."  They  are  now  playing  in  our  street,  and  while 
I  write,  one  of  the  beautiful  choruses  from  Norma  comes  up 
through  the  din  of  the  crowd.  In  fact,  music  is  heard  over  the 
whole  city,  and  the  throngs  that  fill  every  street  with  all  sorts  of 
faces  and  dresses,  somewhat  relieve  the  monotony  that  was  begin- 
nincr  to  make  Frankfort  tiresome. 

We  have  an  ever-varied  and  interestincj  scene  from  our  window. 
Besides  the  motley  crowd  of  passers-by,  there  are  booths  and  ta- 
bles stationed  thick  below.  One  man  in  particular  is  busily  en- 
gaged in  selling  his  store  of  blacking  in  the  auction  style,  in  a 
manner  that  would  do  credit  to  a  real  Down-easter.  He  has 
flaming  certificates  exhibited,  and  prefaces  his  calls  to  buy  with  a 
high-sounding  description  of  its  wonderful  qualities.  He  has  a 
bench  in  front,  where  he  tests  it  on  the  shoes  of  his  customers,  or 

6 


98  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


if  none  of  these  are  disposed  to  try  it,  he  rubs  it  on  his  own, 
which  shine  like  mirrors.  So  he  rattles  on  with  amazing  fluency 
in  French,  German  and  Italian,  and  this,  with  his  black  beard 
and  moustache  and  his  polite,  graceful  manner,  keeps  a  crowd 
of  customers  around  him,  so  that  the  wonderful  blacking  goes  off 
as  fast  as  he  can  supply  it. 

April  6. — Old  Winter's  gates  are  shut  close  behind  us,  and  the 
sun  looks  down  with  his  summer  countenance.  The  air,  after  the 
long  cold  rain,  is  like  that  of  Paradise.  All  things  are  gay  and 
bright,  and  everybody  is  in  motion.  Spring  commenced  with 
yesterday  in  earnest,  and  lo !  before  night  the  roads  were  all  dry 
and  fine  as  if  there  had  been  no  rain  for  a  month  ;  and  the  garden- 
ers dug  and  planted  in  ground  which,  eight  days  before,  was  cov 
ered  with  snow ! 

After  having  lived  through  the  longest  winter  here,  for  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years,  we  were  destined  to  witness  the  greatest 
flood  for  sixty,  and  little  lower  than  any  within  the  last  three 
hundred  years.  On  the  28th  of  March,  the  river  overflooded  the 
high  pier  along  the  Main,  and  rising  higher  and  higher,  began  to 
come  into  the  gates  and  alleys.  Before  night  the  whole  bank  was 
covered  and  the  water  intruded  into  some  of  the  booths  in  the 
Romerberg.  When  I  went  there  the  next  morning,  it  was  a  sor- 
rowful sight.  Persons  were  inside  the  gate  with  boats  ;  so  rapidly 
had  it  risen,  that  many  of  the  merchants  had  no  time  to  move 
their  wares,  and  mus  suffer  great  damage.  They  were  busy 
rescuing  what  property  could  be  seized  in  the  haste,  and  con- 
structing passages  into  the  houses  which  were  surrounded.  'Ifo:^'  •*• 
one  seemed  to  think  of  buying  or  selling,  but  only  on  the  best 
method  to  escape  the  danger.  Along  the  Main  it  was  still  worse. 
From  the  measure,  it  had  risen  seventeen  feet  above  its  usual 
level,  and  the  arches  of  the  bridge  were  filled  nearly  to  the  top. 
At  the  Upper-Main  gate,  every  thing  was  flooded — houses,  gar- 
dens, workshops,  &c. ;  the  water  had  even  overrun  the  meadows 
above  and  attacked  the  city  from  behind,  so  that  a  part  of  the 
beautiful  promenades  lay  deep  under  water.  On  the  other  side, 
we  could  see  houses  standing  in  it  up  to  the  roof  It  came  up 
through  the  sewers  into  the  middle  of  Frankfort;  a  large  bony 
of  men  were  kept  at  work  constructing  slight  bridges  to  walk  on, 


AN  INUNDATION.  99 


and  transporting  boats  to  places  where  they  were  needed.  This 
was  all  done  at  the  expense  of  the  city  ;  the  greatest  readiness 
was  everywhere  manifested  to  render  all  possible  assistance.  In 
the  Fischergasse,  I  saw  them  taking  provisions  to  the  people  in 
boats ;  one  man  even  fastened  a  loaf  of  bread  to  the  end  of  a 
broomstick  and  reached  it  across  the  narrow  street  from  an  upper 
story  window,  to  the  neighbor  opposite.  News  came  that  Hansen, 
a  village  towards  the  Taunus,  about  two  miles  distant,  was  quite 
under  water,  and  that  the  people  clung  to  the  roofs  and  cried  for 
help ;  but  it  was  fortunately  false.  About  noon,  cannon  shots 
were  heard,  and  twenty  boats  were  sent  out  from  the  city. 

In  the  afternoon  I  ascended  the  tower  of  the  Cathedral,  which 
commands  a  wide  view  of  the  valley,  up  and  down.  Just  above 
the  city  the  whole  plain  was  like  a  small  lake — between  two  and 
three  miles  wide.  A  row  of  new-built  houses  stretched  into  it 
like  a  long  promontory,  and  in  the  middle,  like  an  island,  stood  a 
country-seat  with  large  out-buildings.  The  river  sent  a  long 
arm  out  below,  that  reached  up  through  the  meadows  behind  the 
city,  as  if  to  clasp  it  all  and  bear  it  away  together.  A  heavy 
storm  was  raging  along  the  whole  extent  of  the  Taunus ;  but  a 
rainbow  stood  in  the  eastern  sky.  I  thought  of  its  promise,  and 
hoped,  for  the  sa^e  of  the  hundreds  of  poor  people  who  were  suf- 
fering by  the  waters,  that  it  might  herald  their  fall. 

We  afterwards  went  over  to  Sachsenhausen,  which  was,  if  pos- 
sible, in  a  still  more  unfortunate  condition.  The  water  Rad  pen- 
etrated the  passages  and  sewers,  and  from  these  leaped  and  rushed 
lip  into  the  streets,  as  out  of  a  fountain.  The  houses  next  to  the 
Main,  which  were  first  filled,  poured  torrents  out  of  the  doors  and 
windows  into  the  street  below.  These  people  were  nearly  all 
poor,  and  could  ill  afford  the  loss  of  time  and  damage  of  property 
it  occasioned  them.  The  stream  was  filled  with  wood  and  boards, 
and  even  whole  roofs,  with  the  tiles  on,  went  floating  down. 
The  bridge  was  crowded  with  people ;  one  saw  everywhere 
mournful  countenances,  and  heard  lamentations  over  the  catas- 
ti'ophe.  After  sunset,  a  great  cloud,  filling  half  the  sky,  hung 
above  ;  the  reflection  of  its  glowing  crimson  tint,  joined  to  the 
brown  hue  of  the  water,  made  it  seem  like  a  river  of  fire. 

What  a  difference  a  little  sunshine  makes  !     I  could   have  for 


100  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


gotten  the  season  the  next  day,  but  for  the  bare  trees  and  swelL 
ing  Main,  as  I  threaded  my  way  through  the  hundreds  of  people 
who  thronged  its  banks.  It  was  that  soft  warmth  that  comes  with 
the  first  spring  days,  relaxing  the  body  and  casting  a  dreamy  hue 
over  the  mind.  I  leaned  over  the  bridge  in  the  full  enjoyment  of 
it,  and  listening  to  the  roaring  of  the  water  under  the  arches, 
forgot  every  thing  else  for  a  time.  It  was  amusing  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  pier  and  look  at  the  countenances  passing  by,  while 
the  phantasy  was  ever  ready,  weaving  a  tale  for  all.  My  favorite 
Tyrolese  were  there,  and  I  saw  a  Greek  leaning  over  the  stone 
balustrade,  wearing  the  red  cap  and  white  frock,  and  with  the 
long  dark  hair  and  fiery  eye  of  the  Orient.  I  could  not  but 
wonder,  as  he  looked  at  the  dim  hills  of  the  Odenwald,  along  the 
eastern  horizon,  whether  they  called  up  in  his  mind  the  purple 
isles  of  his  native  Archipelago. 

The  general  character  of  a  nation  is  plainly  stamped  on  the 
countenances  of  its  people.  One  who  notices  the  faces  in  the 
streets,  can  soon  distinguish,  by  the  glance  he  gives  in  going  by, 
the  Englishman  or  the  Frenchman  from  the  German,  and  the 
Christian  from  the  Jew.  Not  less  strikino-  is  the  difference  of 
expression  between  the  Germans  themselves ;  and  in  places 
where  all  classes  of  people  are  drawn  together,  it  is  interesting 
to  observe  how  accurately  these  distinctions  are  drawn.  The 
boys  have  generally  handsome,  intelligent  faces,  and  like  all 
boys,  they  are  full  of  life  and  spirit,  for  they  kno'«v  nothing  of  the 
laws  by  which  their  countiy  is  chained  down,  and  would  not 
care  for  them,  if  they  did.  But  with  the  exception  of  the  stu- 
dents, who  talk,  at  least,  of  Liberty  and  Right,  the  young  men 
lose  this  spirit  and  at  last  settle  down  into  the  calm,  cautious, 
lethargic  citizen.  One  distinguishes  an  Englishman  and  I  should 
think  an  American,  also,  in  this  respect,  very  easily  ;  the  former, 
moreover,  by  a  certain  cold  stateliness  and  reserve.  There  is  some- 
thing, however,  about  a  .Tew,  whether  English  or  German,  which 
marks  him  from  all  others.  However  different  their  faces,  there 
is  a  family  character  which  runs  through  the  whole  of  them.  It 
lays  principally  in  tlieir  high  cheek-bones,  prominent  nose  and 
thin,  compressed  lips ;  which,  especially  in  elderly  men,  gives  a 
peculiar  miserly  expression  that  is  unmistakeable. 


RISE  OF   THE  WATER.  101 

I  regret  to  say,  one  looks  almost  in  vain,  in  Germany,  for  a 
handsome  female  countenance.  Here  and  there,  perhaps,  is  a 
woman  with  regular  features,  but  that  intellectual  expression, 
which  gives  such  a  charm  to  the  most  common  face,  is  wanting. 
I  have  seen  more  beautiful  women  in  one  night,  in  a  public  as- 
sembly in  America,  than  during  the  seven  months  I  have  been 
on  the  Continent.  Some  of  the  young  Jewesses,  in  Frankfort, 
are  considered  handsome,  but  their  features  soon  become  too 
strongly  marked.  In  a  public  walk  the  number  of  positively 
ugly  faces  is  really  astonishing. 

About  ten  o'clock  that  night,  I  heard  a  noise  of  persons  run- 
ning in  the  street,  and  going  to  the  Romerberg,  found  the  water 
had  risen,  all  at  once,  much  higher,  and  was  still  rapidly  in- 
creasing. People  were  setting  up  torches  and  lengthening  the 
rafts,  which  had  been  already  formed.  The  lower  part  of  the 
city  was  a  real  Venice — the  streets  were  full  of  boats  and  peo- 
ple could  even  row  about  in  their  own  houses;  though  it  was  not 
quite  so  bad  as  the  flood  in  Georgia,  where  they  went  up  stairs 
to  hed  in  boats !  I  went  to  the  bridge.  Persons  were  callinor 
around — "  The  water  !  the  water  !  it  rises  continually  !"  The 
river  rushed  through  tlie  arches,  foaming  and  dashing  with  a 
noise  like  thunder,  and  the  red  light  of  the  torches  along  the 
shore  cast  a  flickering  glare  on  the  troubled  waves.  It  was  then 
twenty -one  feet  above  its  usual  level.  Men  were  busy  all 
around,  carrying  boats  and  ladders  to  the  places  most  threatened, 
or  emptying  cellars  into  which  it  was  penetrating.  The  sudden 
swelling  was  occasioned  by  the  coming  down  of  the  floods  from 
the  mountains  of  Spessart. 

Part  of  the  upper  quay  cracked  next  morning  and  threatened 
to  fall  in,  and  one  of  the  projecting  piers  of  the  bridge  sunk 
away  from  the  main  body  three  or  four  inches.  In  Sachsenhau- 
sen  the  desolation  occasioned  by  the  flood  is  absolutely  frightful ; 
several  houses  have  fallen  into  total  ruin.  All  business  was 
stopped  for  the  day  ;  the  Exchange  was  even  shut  up.  As  the 
city  depends  almost  entirely  on  pumps  for  its  supply  of  water,  and 
these  were  filled  with  the  flood,  we  have  been  drinking  the  muddy 
current  of  the  Main  ever  since.  The  damage  to  goods  is  very 
great.     The  fair  was  stopped  at  once,  and  the  loss  in  this  respect 


i{)2  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


alone,  must  be  several  millions  of  florins.  The  water  began  to 
fall  on  the  Ist,  and  has  now  sunk  about  ten  feet,  so  that  most 
of  the  houses  are  again  released,  though  in  a  bad  condition. 

Yesterday  afternoon,   as  I   was  sitting  in  my  room,  writing,  I 
heard  all  at  once  an  explosion  like  a  cannon  in  the  street,  fol- 
lowed by  loud  and  continued  screams.     Looking  out   the   win- 
dow, I  saw  the  people  rushing  by  with  goods  in  their  arms,  some 
wringing  their  hands  and  crying,  others  running  in  all  directions. 
Imagining  that  it  was  nothing  less  than  the  tumbling  down  of 
one  of  the  old  houses,  we  ran  down  and   saw  a  store  a  few  doors 
distant  in  flames.     The  windows  were   bursting  and  flying  out, 
and  the  mingled  mass  of  smoke    and  red   flame    reached    half 
way  across  the  street.     We  learned  afterwards  it  was  occasioned 
by  the  explosion   of  a  jar  of  naphtha,  which  instantly  enveloped 
the  whole  room  in  fire,  the  people  barely  escaping  in  time.     The 
persons  who  had  booths  near  were  standing  still  in  despair,  while 
the  flames  were  beginning  to  touch  their  property.     A  few  butch- 
ers  who  first  came   up,   did  almost  everything.     A  fire  engine 
arrived  soon,  but  it  was  ten  minutes  before  it  began  to  play,  and 
by  that  time   the   flames  were  coming  out  of  the  upper  stories. 
Then  the  supply  of  water  soon  failed,  and  though  another  engine 
came  up  shortly  after,  it  was  sometime  before  it  could  be  put  in 
order,  so  that   by  the  time   they  got   fairly  to  work,  the  fire  had 
made   its  way  nearly  through   the   house.     The  water  was   first 
brought  in  barrels  drawn    by  horses,  till  some  oflicer  came   and 
opened  the   fire  plug.     The  police   were  busy  at   work   seizing 
those  who  came  by  and  setting  them  to  work ;   and   as  the  alarm 
had  drawn  a  great   many  together,  they  at  last   began   to   effect 
something.     All  the  military  are  obliged  to   be  out,  and   the  offi- 
cers appeared  eager  to  use  their  authority  while  they  could,  for 
every  one  was  ordering  and  commanding,  till  all  was  a  scene  of 
perfect  confusion  and  uproar.     I  could  not  help  laughing  heart- 
ily, so  ludicrous  did  the  scene   appear.     There  were   little,  mis- 
erable engines,  not  much  bigger  than  a  hand-cart,  and  looking  as 
if  they  had  not  been  used  for  half  a  century,  the  horses  running 
backwards  and  forwards,  dragging   barrels  which  were  emptied 
into  tubs,  after  which  the  water  was  finally  dipped  up  in  buckets, 
and  emptied  into  the  engines !     These  machines  can  only  play 


A  FIRE.  103 

into  the  second  or  third  story,  after  which  the  hose  was  taken 
up  in  the  houses  on  tlie  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  nnade  to 
play  across.  After  four  hours  the  fire  was  overcome,  the  house 
being  thoroughly  burnt  out ;  it  happened  to  have  double  fire 
walls,  which  prevented  those  adjoining  from  catching  easily. 


104  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  DEAD  AND  THE  DEAF MENDELSSOHN  THE  COMPOSER. 

It  is  now  a  luxury  to  breathe.  These  spring  days  are  the  per- 
fection of  delightful  weather.  Imagine  the  delicious  temperature 
of  our  Indian  summer  joined  to  the  life  and  freshness  of  spring, 
add  to  this  a  sky  of  the  purest  azure,  and  a  breeze  tilled  with  the 
odor  of  violets, — the  most  exquisite  of  all  perfumes — and  you 
have  some  idea  of  it.  The  meadows  are  beginning  to  bloom.,  and 
I  have  already  heard  the  larks  singing  high  up  in  the  sky.  Those 
sacred  birds,  the  storks,  have  returned  and  taken  possession  of 
their  old  nests  on  the  chimney-tops ;  they  are  sometimes  seen 
walking  about  in  the  fields,  with  a  very  grave  and  serious  air,  as 
if  conscious  of  the  estimation  in  v/hich  they  are  held.  Every- 
body is  out  in  the  open  air  ;  the  woods,  although  tliey  still  look 
wintry,  are  filled  with  people,  and  the  boatmen  on  the  Main  are 
busy  ferrying  gay  parties  across.  The  spring  has  been  so  long 
in  coming,  that  all  are  determined  to  enjoy  it  well,  while  it  lasts. 

We  visited  the  cemetery  a  few  da^^  ago.  The  dead-house, 
where  corpses  are  placed  in  the  hope  of  resuscitation,  is  an  ap- 
pendage to  cemeteries  found  only  in  Germany.  We  were  shown 
into  a  narrow  chamber,  on  each  side  of  which  were  six  cells,  into 
which  one  could  distinctly  see,  by  means  of  a  large  plate  of  glass. 
In  each  of  these  is  a  bier  for  the  body,  directly  above  which 
hangs  a  cord,  having  on  the  end  ten  thimbles,  which  are  put  upon 
the  fingers  of  the  corpse,  so  that  the  slightest  motion  strikes  a 
bell  in  the  watchman's  room.  Lamps  are  lighted  at  night,  and 
in  winter  the  rooms  are  warmed.  In  the  watciiman's  chamber 
stands  a  clock  with  a  dial-plate  of  twenty-four  hours,  and  oppo- 
site every  hour  is  a  little  plate,  whicli  can  only  be  moved  two 
minutes  before  it  strikes.  If  then  the  watchman  has  slept  or 
neglected  his  duty  at  that  time,  he  cannot  move  it  afterwards,  and 


THE  FRANKFORT  CEMETERY.  105 

his  neglect  is  seen  by  the  superintendent.  In  such  a  case,  he  is 
severely  fined,  and  for  the  second  or  third  offence,  dismissed. 
There  are  other  rooms  adjoining,  containing  beds,  baths,  galvanic 
battery,  &c.  Nevertheless,  they  say  there  has  been  no  resusci- 
tation during  the  fifteen  years  it  has  been  established. 

We  afterwards  went  to  the  end  of  the  cemetery  to  see  the  bas- 
reliefs  of  Thorwaldsen,  in  the  vault  of  the  Bethmann  family. 
They  are  tlu'ee  in  number,  representing  the  death  of  a  son  of  the 
present  banker,  Moritz  von  Bethmann,  who  was  drowned  in  the 
Arno  about  fourteen  years  ago.  The  middle  one  represents  tiie 
young  man  drooping  in  his  chair,  the  beautiful  Greek  Angel  of 
Death  standing  at  his  back,  with  one  arm  over  his  shoulder, 
while  his  younger  brother  is  sustaining  him,  and  receiving  the 
wreath  that  drops  from  his  sinking  hand.  The  young  woman 
who  showed  us  these,  told  us  of  Thorwaldsen's  visit  to  Frankfort, 
about  three  years  ago.  She  described  him  as  a  beautiful  and 
venerable  old  man,  with  long  white  locks  hanging  over  his  shoul- 
ders, still  vigorous  and  active  for  his  years.  There  seems  to  have 
been  much  resemblance  between  him  and  Dannecker — not  only 
in  personal  appearance  and  character,  but  in  the  simple  and  clas- 
sical beauty  of  their  works. 

The  cemetery  contains  many  other  monuments  ;  with  the  ex- 
ception of  one  or  two  by  Launitz,  and  an  exquisite  Death  Angel 
in  sandstone,  from  a  young  Frankfort  sculptor,  they  are  not  re- 
markable. The  common  tomb-stone  is  a  white  wooden  cross ; 
opposite  the  entrance  is  a  perfect  forest  of  them,  involuntarily  re- 
minding one  of  a  company  of  ghosts,  with  outstretched  arms. 
These  contain  the  names  of  the  deceased  with  mottoes,  some  of 
which  are  beautiful  and  toucliing,  as  for  instance:  '■^Through 
darkness  unto  light  ;'^  ^'' Weep  not  for  her  ;  she  is  not  dead,  hut 
sleepeth  ;'^  "  Slumber  sweet  f^'  etc.  The  graves  are  neatly  bor- 
dered with  grass,  and  plant^^d  with  flowers,  and  many  of  the 
crosses  have  withered  wreathes  hanging  upon  them.  In  summer 
it  is  a  beautiful  place  ;  in  fact,  the  very  name  of  cemetery  ii\ 
German — Friedhuf  or  Court  of  Peace — takes  away  the  idea  of 
death  ;  the  beautiful  figure  of  the  youth,  with  his  inverted  torch, 
makes  one  think  of  the  grave  only  as  a  place  of  repose. 

On  our  way  back  we  stopped  at  the  Institute  for  the  Deaf;  for 

6* 


106  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


by  the  new  method  of  teaching  they  are  no  longer  dumb.  It  is 
a  handsome  building  in  the  gardens  skirting  the  city.  We  ap- 
plied, and  on  learning  we  were  strangers,  they  gave  us  permis- 
sion to  enter.  On  finding  we  were  Americans,  the  instructress 
immediately  spoke  of  Dr.  Howe,  who  had  visited  the  Institute  a 
year  or  two  before,  and  was  much  pleased  to  find  that  Mr.  Den- 
nett was  acquainted  with  him.  She  took  us  into  a  room  where 
about  fifteen  small  children  were  assembled,  and  addressing  one 
of  the  girls,  said  in  a  distinct  tone  :  "  These  gentlemen  are  from 
America  ;  the  deaf  children  there  speak  with  their  fingers — canst 
thou  speak  so  ?"  To  which  the  child  answered  distinctly,  but 
with  some  effort :  "  No,  we  speak  with  our  mouths."  She  then 
spoke  to  several  others  with  the  same  success  ;  one  of  the  boys 
in  particular,  articulated  with  astonishing  success.  It  was  inter- 
esting to  watch  their  countenances,  which  were  alive  with  eager 
attention,  and  to  see  the  apparent  efforts  they  made  to  utter  the 
words.  They  spoke  in  a  monotonous  tone,  slowly  and  deliber- 
ately, but  their  voices  had  a  strange,  sepulchral  sound,  which  was 
at  first  unpleasant  to  the  ear.  I  put  one  or  two  questions  to  a  lit- 
tle boy,  which  he  answered  quite  readily  ;  as  I  was  a  foreign'^r, 
this  was  the  best  test  that  could  be  given  of  the  success  of  the 
method.  We  conversed  afterwards  with  the  director,  who  received 
us  kindly,  and  appointed  a  day  for  us  to  come  and  witness  the 
system  more  fully.  He  spoke  of  Dr.  Howe  and  Horace  Mann, 
of  Boston,  and  seemed  to  take  a  great  interest  in  the  introduction 
of  his  system  in  America. 

We  went  again  at  the  appointed  time,  and  as  their  drawing 
teacher  was  there,  we  had  an  opportunity  of  looking  over  their 
sketches,  which  were  excellent.  The  director  showed  us  the 
manner  of  teaching  them,  with  a  looking-glass,  in  which  they 
were  shown  the  different  positions  of  the  organs  of  the  mouth, 
and  afterwards  made  to  feel  the  vibrations  of  the  throat  and 
breast,  produced  by  the  sound.  He  took  one  of  the  youngest 
scholars,  covered  her  eyes,  and  placing  her  hand  upon  his  throat, 
articulated  the  second  sound  of  A.  She  followed  him,  making  the 
sound  softer  or  louder  as  he  did.  All  the  consonants  were  made 
distinctly,  by  placing  her  hand  before  his  mouth.  Tiieir  exercises 
m  reading,  speaking  with  one  another,  and  writing  from  dictation, 


A  DEAF  SCULPTOR.  107 

succeeded  perfectly.  He  treated  them  all  like  his  own  children, 
and  sought  by  jesting  and  playing,  to  make  the  exercise  appear 
as  sport.  They  call  him  father  and  appear  to  be  much  attached 
to  him. 

One  of  the  pupils,  about  fourteen  years  old,  interested  me 
through  his  history.  He  and  his  sister  were  found  in  Sachsen- 
hausen,  by  a  Frankfort  merchant,  in  a  horrible  condition.  Their 
mother  had  died  about  two  years  and  a  half  before,  and  during 
all  that  time  their  father  had  neglected  them  till  they  were  near 
dead  through  privation  and  filth.  The  boy  was  placed  in  this 
Institute,  and  the  girl  in  that  of  the  Orphans.  He  soon  began  to 
show  a  talent  for  modelling  figures,  and  for  some  time  he  has 
been  taking  lessons  of  the  sculptor  Launitz.  I  saw  a  beautiful 
copy  of  a  bas-relief  of  Thorwaldsen  which  he  made,  as  well  as 
an  original,  very  interesting,  from  its  illustration  of  his  history. 
It  was  in  two  parts  ;  the  first  represented  himself  and  his  sister, 
kneeling  in  misery  before  a  ruined  family  altar,  by  which  an  an- 
gel was  standing,  who  took  him  by  one  hand,  while  with  the  other 
he  pointed  to  his  benefactor,  standing  near.  The  other  represented 
the  two  kneeling  in  gratitude  before  a  restored  altar,  on  which 
was  the  anchor  of  Hope.  From  above  streamed  down  a  light, 
where  two  angels  were  rejoicing  over  their  happiness.  For  a 
boy  of  fourteen,  deprived  of  one  of  the  most  valuable  senses,  and 
taken  from  such  a  horrible  condition  of  life,  it  is  a  surprising 
work  and  gives  brilliant  hopes  for  his  future. 

We  went  lately  into  the  Roemerberg,  to  see  the  Kaisersaal  and 
the  other  rooms  formerly  used  by  the  old  Emperors  of  Germany, 
and  their  Senates.  The  former  is  now  in  the  process  of  restora- 
tion. The  ceiling  is  in  the  gorgeous  illuminated  style  of  the  mid- 
dle ages ;  along  each  side  are  rows  of  niches  for  the  portraits  of 
the  Emperors,  which  have  been  painted  by  the  best  artists  in  Ber- 
lin, Dresden,  Vienna  and  Munich.  It  is  remarkable  that  the 
number  of  the  old  niches  in  the  hall  should  exactly  correspond 
with  the  number  of  the  German  Emperors,  so  that  the  portrait  of 
the  Emperor  Francis  of  Austria,  who  was  the  last,  will  close  the 
long  rank  coming  down  from  Charlemagne.  Ihe  pictures,  or  at 
least  such  of  them  as  are  already  finished,  ar^  kept  in  another 
room ;  they  give  one  a  good  idea  of  the  changing  styles  of  royal 


108  VIEWS   A-FOOT 


costumes,  from  the  steel  shirt  and  helmet  to  the  jewelled  diadem 
and  velvet  robe.  I  looked  with  interest  on  a  painting  of  Frederic 
Barbarossa,  by  Lessing,  and  mused  over  the  popular  traditiori 
that  he  sits  with  his  paladins  in  a  mountain  cave  under  the  Castle 
of  KyfThauser,  ready  to  come  forth  and  assist  his  Fatherland  in 
the  hour  of  need.  There  was  the  sturdy  form  of  Maximilian  ; 
the  martial  Conrad  ;  and  Ottos,  Siegfrieds  and  Sigismunds  in 
plenty — many  of  whom  moved  a  nation  in  their  day,  but  are  now 
dust  and  forgotten. 

I  yesterday  visited  Mendelssohn,  the  celebrated  composer. 
Having  heard  some  of  his  music  this  winter,  particularly  that 
magnificent  creation,  the  "  Walpurgisnacht,"  1  wished  to  obtain 
his  autograph  before  leaving,  and  sent  a  note  for  that  purpose. 
He  sent  a  kind  note  in  answer,  adding  a  chorus  out  of  the  Walpur- 
gisnacht from  his  own  hand.  After  this,  I  could  not  repress  the 
desire  of  speaking  with  him.  He  received  me  with  true  German 
cordiality,  and  on  learning  I  was  an  American,  spoke  of  having 
been  invited  to  attend  a  musical  festival  in  New-York.  He  in- 
vited me  to  call  on  him  if  he  happened  to  be  in  Leipsic  or  Dres- 
den when  we  should  pass  through,  and  spoke  particularly  of  the 
fine  music  there.  I  have  rarely  seen  a  man  whose  countenance 
bears  so  plainly  the  stamp  of  genius.  He  has  a  glorious  dark 
eye,  and  Byron's  expression  of  a  "  dome  of  thought,"  could  never 
be  more  appropriately  applied  than  to  his  lofty  and  intellectual 
forehead,  tlie  marble  whiteness  and  polish  of  which  are  heightened 
by  the  raven  hue  of  his  hair.  He  is  about  forty  years  of  age, 
in  the  noon  of  his  fame  and  the  full  maturity  of  his  genius.  Al- 
ready as  a  boy  of  fourteen  he  composed  an  opera,  which  was 
played  v/ith  much  success  at  Berlin ;  he  is  now  the  first  living 
composer  of  Germany.  Moses  Mendelssohn,  the  celebrated  Jewish 
philosopher,  was  his  grandfather ;  and  his  father,  now  living,  is 
accustomed  to  say  that  in  his  youth  he  was  spoken  of  as  the  son 
of  the  great  Mendelssohn  ;  now  he  is  known  as  'he  father  of  the 
great  Mendelssohn  ! 


SETTING  OUT  AGAIN.  *09 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

JOURNEY    ON    FOOT    FROM    FRANKFORT    TO    CASSEL. 

The  day  for  leaving  Frankfort  came  at  last,  and  I  bade  adieu 
to  the  gloomy,  antique,  but  still  quaint  and  pleasant  city.  I  felt 
like  leaving  a  second  home,  so  much  had  the  memories  of  many 
delightful  hours  spent  there  attached  me  to  it :  I  shall  long  retain 
the  recollection  of  its  dark  old  streets,  its  massive,  devil-haunted 
bridge  and  the  ponderous  cathedral,  telling  of  the  times  of  the 
Crusaders.  I  toiled  up  the  long  hill  on  the  road  to  Fried  berg, 
and  from  the  tower  at  the  top  took  a  last  look  at  the  distant  city, 
with  a  heart  heavier  than  the  knapsack  whose  unaccustomed 
weight  rested  uneasily  on  my  shoulders.  Being  alone — starting 
out  into  the  wide  world,  where  as  yet  I  knew  no  one, — 1  felt  much 
deeper  what  it  was  to  find  friends  in  a  strange  land.  But  such  is 
the  wanderer's  lot. 

We  had  determined  on  making  the  complete  tour  of  Germany 
on  foot,  and  in  order  to  vary  it  somewhat,  my  friend  and  I  pro- 
posed taking  different  routes  from  Frankfort  to  Leipsic.  He 
choose  a  circuitous  course,  by  way  of  Nuremberg  and  the  Thu- 
nno-ian  forests  ;  while  I,  whose  fancy  had  been  running  wild  with 
Goethe's  witches,  preferred  looking  on  the  gloom  and  grandeur 
of  the  ruu-o-ed  Hartz.  We  both  left  Frankfort  on  the  23d  of 
April,  each  bearing  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  same  person  in 
Leipsic,  where  we  agreed  to  meet  in  fourteen  days.  As  we  were 
oblio-ed  to  travel  as  cheaply  as  possible,  I  started  with  but  seventy- 
nine  florins,  (a  florin  is  forty  cents  American)  well  knowing  that 
if  I  took  more,  I  should,  in  all  probability,  spend  proportionably 
more  also.  Thus,  armed  with  my  passport,  properly  vised,  a 
knapsack  weighing  fifleen  pounds  and  a  cane  from  the  Kentucky 
Mammoth  Cave,  I  began  my  lonely  walk  through  Northern  Ger- 
many. 


110  VIEWS    A-FOOT. 


The  warm  weather  of  the  week  before  had  brought  out  the 
foliage  of  the  willows  and  other  early  trees — violets  and  cowslips 
were  springing  up  in  the  meadows.  Keeping  along  the  foot  of 
the  Taunus,  I  passed  over  great,  broad  hills,  which  were  brown 
with  the  spring  ploughing,  and  by  sunset  reached  Friedberg — a 
large  city,  on  the  summit  of  a  hill.  The  next  morning,  after 
sketching  its  old,  baronial  castle,  I  crossed  the  meadows  to  Nau- 
heim,  to  see  the  salt  springs  there.  They  are  fifteen  in  number; 
the  water,  which  is  very  warm,  rushes  up  with  such  force  as  to 
leap  several  feet  above  the  earth.  The  buildings  made  for  eva- 
poration are  nearly  two  miles  in  length  ;  a  walk  along  the  top 
gives  a  delightful  view  of  the  surrounding  valleys.  After  reach- 
ing the  chauss^e  again,  I  was  hailed  by  a  wandering  journeyman, 
or  handwerker,  as  they  are  called,  who  wanted  company.  As  1 
had  concluded  to  accept  all  offers  of  this  kind,  we  trudged  along 
together  very  pleasantly.  He  was  from  Holstein,  on  the  borders 
of  Denmark  and  was  just  returning  home,  after  an  absence  of 
six  years,  having  escaped  from  Switzerland  after  the  late  battle 
of  Luzerne,  which  he  had  witnessed.  He  had  his  knapsack  and 
tools  fastened  on  two  wheels,  which  he  drew  after  him  quite  con- 
veniently. I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  adroit  manner  in 
which  he  begged  his  way  along,  through  every  village.  He  would 
ask  me  to  go  on  and  wait  for  him  at  the  other  end ;  after  a  few 
minutes  he  followed,  with  a  handful  of  small  copper  money,  which 
he  said  he  hsid  fought  for, — the  handworker's  term  for  begged. 

We  passed  over  long  ranges  of  hills,  with  an  occasional  view 
of  the .  Vogelsgebirge,  or  Bird's  Mountains,  far  to  the  east.  I 
knew  at  length,  by  the  pointed  summits  of  the  hills,  that  we  were 
approaching  Giessen  and  the  valley  of  the  Lahn.  Finally,  two 
sharp  peaks  appeared  in  the  distance,  each  crowned  with  a  pic- 
turesque fo"f  triess,  while  the  spires  of  Giessen  rose  from  the  valley 
below.  Parting  from  my  companion,  I  passed  through  the  city 
without  stopping,  for  it  was  the  time  of  the  university  vacation, 
and  Dr.  Liebeg,  the  world-renowned  chemist,  whom  I  desired 
to  see,  was  absent. 

Crossing  a  hill  or  two,  I  came  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Lahn, 
which  flows  through  meadows  of  the  brightest  green,  with  red- 
roofed  cottages  nestled   among  gardens  and  orchards  upon   its 


WALKING  IN  HESSE  CASSEL.  Ill 


banks.  The  women  here  wear  a  remarkable  costume,  con- 
sisting of  a  red  boddice  with  white  sleeves,  and  a  dozen  skirts, 
one  above  another,  reaching  only  to  the  knees.  I  slept  again  at 
a  little  village  among  the  hills,  and  started  early  for  Marburg. 
The  meadows  were  of  the  purest  emerald,  through  which  the 
stream  wound  its  way,  with  even  borders,  covered  to  the  water's 
edge  with  grass  so  smooth  and  velvety,  that  a  fairy  might  have 
danced  alongf  on  it  for  miles  without  stumblino-  over  an  uneven  tuft. 
This  valley  is  one  of  the  finest  districts  in  Germany.  I  thought, 
as  I  saw  the  peaceful  inhabitants  at  work  in  their  fields,  I  had 
most  probably,  on  the  battle-field  of  Brandy  wine,  walked  over  the 
bones  of  some  of  their  ancestors,  whom  a  despotic  prince  had  torn 
from  their  happy  homes,  to  die  in  a  distant  land,  fighting  against 
the  cause  of  freedom. 

I  now  entered  directly  into  the  heart  of  Hesse  Cassel.  The 
country  resembled  a  collection  of  hills  thrown  together  in  confu- 
sion— sometimes  a  wide  plain  left  between  them,  sometimes  a 
clustre  of  wooded  peaks,  and  here  and  there  a  single  pointed  sum- 
mit rising  above  the  rest.  The  vallies  were  green  as  ever,  the 
hill-sides  freshly  ploughed  and  the  forests  beginning  to  be  colored 
by  the  tender  foliage  of  the  larch  and  birch.  I  walked  two  or 
three  hours  at  a  "  stretch,"  and  then,  when  I  could  find  a  dry, 
shady  bank,  1  would  rest  for  half  an  hour  and  finish  some  hastily- 
sketched  landscape,  or  lay  at  full  length,  with  my  head  on  my 
knapsack,  and  peruse  the  countenances  of  those  passing  by.  The 
observation  which  every  traveller  excites,  soon  ceases  to  be  em- 
barrassing. It  was  at  first  extremely  unpleasant  ;  but  I  am  now 
so  hardened,  that  the  strange,  magnetic  iufluence  of  the  human 
eye,  which  we  cannot  avoid  feeling,  passes  by  me  as  harmlessly 
as  if  turned  aside  by  invisible  mail. 

During  the  day  several  showers  came  by,  but  as  none  of  them 
penetrated  further  than  my  blouse,  I  kept  on,  and  reached  about 
sunset  a  little  village  in  the  valley.  I  chose  a  small  inn,  which 
had  an  air  of  neatness  about  it,  and  on  going  in,  the  tidy  land- 
lady's "  be  you  welcome,"  as  she  brought  a  pair  of  slippers  for 
my  swollen  feet,  made  me  feel  quite  at  home.  After  being  fur- 
nished with  eggs,  milk,  butter  and  bread,  for  supper,  which  I  ate 
while  listening  to  an  animated   discussion  between  the   village 


112  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


schoolmaster  and  some  farmers,  I  was  ushered  into  a  clean, 
sanded  bedroom,  and  soon  forgot  all  fatigue.  For  this,  with 
breakfast  in  the  morning,  the  bill  was  six  and  a  half  groschen — 
about  sixteen  cents  !  The  air  was  freshened  by  the  rain  and  I 
journeyed  over  the  hills  at  a  rapid  rate.  Stopping  for  dinner  at 
the  large  village  of  Wabern,  a  boy  at  the  inn  asked  me  if  I  was 
going  to  America  ?  I  said  no,  I  came  from  there.  He  then 
asked  me  many  silly  questions,  after  which  he  ran  out  and  told 
the  people  of  the  village.  When  1  set  out  again,  the  children 
pointed  at  me  and  cried  :  "  see  there  !  he  is  from  America !"  and 
the  men  took  off  their  hats  and  bowed  ! 

The  sky  was  stormy,  which  added  to  the  gloom  of  the  hills 
around,  though  some  of  the  distant  ranges  lay  in  mingled  light 
and  shade — the  softest  alternation  of  purple  and  brown.  There 
were  many  isolated,  rocky  hills,  two  of  wliich  interested  me, 
through  their  attendant  legends.  One  is  said  to  have  been  the 
scene  of  a  battle  between  the  Romans  and  Germans,  where, 
after  a  long  conflict  the  rock  opened  and  swallowed  up  the 
former.  The  other,  which  is  crowned  with  a  rocky  wall,  so  like 
a  ruined  fortress,  as  at  a  distance  to  be  universally  mistaken  for 
one,  tradition  says  is  the  death-place  of  Charlemagne,  who  still 
walks  around  its  summit  every  night,  clad  in  complete  armor. 
On  ascending  a  hill  late  in  the  afternoon,  I  saw  at  a  great  dis- 
tance the  statue  of  Hercules,  which  stands  on  the  Wilhelmshohe, 
near  Cassel.  Night  set  in  with  a  dreary  rain,  and  I  stopped  at 
an  inn  about  five  miles  short  of  the  city.  While  tea  was  prepar- 
ing a  company  of  students  came  in  and  asked  for  a  separate 
room.  Seeing  I  was  alone,  they  invited  me  up  with  them.  They 
seemed  much  interested  in  America,  and  leaving  the  table  grad- 
ually, formed  a  ring  around  me,  where  I  had  enough  to  do  to 
talk  with  them  all  at  once.  When  the  omnibus  came  along,  the 
most  of  them  went  with  it  to  Cassel ;  but  five  remained  and  per- 
suaded me  to  set  out  with  them  on  foot.  They  insisted  on  car- 
rying  my  knapsack  the  whole  way,  through  the  rain  and  dark- 
ness, and  when  I  had  passed  the  city  gate  with  them,  unchal- 
lenged, conducted  me  to  the  comfortable  hotel,  "  Zur  Krone.'^ 

It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  wake  up  in  the  morning  in  a  strange 
city.     Every  thing  is  new  ;  you  walk  around  it  for  the  first  time 


WILHELMSHOHE.  Ii3 


in  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  novelty,  or  the  not  less  agreeable 
feeling  of  surprise,  if  it  is  different  from  your  anticipations.  Two 
of  my  friends  of  the  previous  night  called  for  me  in  the  morning, 
to  show  me  around  the  city,  and  the  first  impression,  made  in 
such  agreeable  company,  prepossessed  me  very  favorably.  I 
shall  not,  however,  take  up  time  in  describing  its  many  sights, 
particularly  the  Frederick's  Platz,  where  the  statue  of  Frederick 
the  Second,  who  sold  ten  thousand  of  his  subjects  to  England,  has 
been  re-erected,  after  having  lain  for  years  in  a  stable  where  it 
was  thrown  by  the  French. 

1  was  much  interested  in   young  Carl  K ,  one  of  my  new 

acquaintances.  His  generous  and  unceasing  kindness  first  won 
my  esteem,  and  I  found  on  nearer  acquaintance,  the  qualities  of 
his  mind  equal  those  of  his  heart.  I  saw  many  beautiful  poem.« 
of  his  which  were  of  remarkable  merit,  considering  his  youth, 
and  thought  I  could  read  in  his  dark,  dreamy  eye,  the  uncon- 
scious presentiment  of  a  power  he  does  not  yet  possess.  He 
seemed   as  one  I  had  known  for  years. 

He,  Vv'ith  a  brother  student,  accompanied  me  in  the  afternoon, 
to  Wilhelmshohe,  the  summer  residence  of  the  Prince,  on  the 
side  of  a  range  of  mountains  three  miles  west  of  the  city.  The 
road  leads  in  a  direct  line  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  which 
is  thirteen  hundred  feet  in  height,  surmounted  by  a  great  struc- 
ture, called  the  Giant's  Castle,  on  the  summit  of  which  is  a  py- 
ramid ninety-six  feet  high,  supporting  a  statue  of  Hercules,  copied 
after  the  Farnese,  and  thirty-one  feet  in  height.  By  a  gradual 
ascent  through  beautiful  woods,  we  reached  the  princely  resi- 
dence, a  magnificent  mansion  standing  on  a  natural  terrace  of 
the  mountain.  Near  it  is  a  little  theatre  built  by  Jerome 
Buonaparte,  in  which  he  himself  used  to  play.  We  looked  into 
the  green  house  in  passing,  where  the  floral  splendor  of  every 
zone  was  combined.  There  were  lofty  halls,  with  glass  roofs, 
where  the  orange  grew  to  a  great  tree,  and  one  could  sit  in  myr- 
tle bowers,  with  the  brilliant  bloom  of  the  tropics  around  him. 
It  was  the  only  thing  there  I  was  guilty  of  coveting. 

The  greatest  curiosity  is  the  water-works,  which  are  perhaps 
unequalled  in  the  world.  The  Giant's  Castle  on  the  summit 
contains  an  immense  tank  in  which   water  is  kept  for  the   pur- 


114  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


pose;  but  unfortunately,  at  the  time  I  was  there,  the  pipes,  which 
had  been  frozen  through  the  winter,  were  not  in  condition  to  play. 
From  the  summit  an  inclined  plane  of  masonry  descends  the 
mountain  nine  hundred  feet,  broken  every  one  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  by  perpendicular  descents.  These  are  the  Cascades,  down 
which  the  water  first  rushes  from  the  tank.  After  being  again 
collected  in  a  great  basin  at  the  bottom,  it  passes  into  an  aque- 
duct, built  like  a  Roman  ruin,  and  goes  over  beautiful  arches 
through  the  forest,  where  it  falls  in  one  sheet  down  a  deep  preci- 
pice. When  it  has  descended  several  other  beautiful  falls,  made 
in  exact  imitation  of  nature,  it  is  finally  collected  and  forms  the 
great  fountain,  which  rises  twelve  inches  in  diameter  from  the 
middle  of  a  lake  to  the  height  of  one  hundred  and  ninety  feet ! 
We  descended  by  lovely  walks  through  the  forest  to  the  Lowen- 
burg,  built  as  the  ruin  of  a  knightly  castle,  and  fitted  out  in 
every  respect  to  correspond  wdth  descriptions  of  a  fortress  in  the 
olden  time,  with  moat,  drawbridge,  chapel  and  garden  of  pyrami- 
dal trees.  Farther  below^  are  a  few  small  houses,  inhabited  by 
the  descendants  of  the  Hessians  who  fell  in  America,  supported 
here  at  the  Prince's  expense ! 


MUx\DEN  IN  HANOVER.  115 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


ADVENTURES    AMONG   THE    HARTZ. 


On  taking  leave  of  Carl  at  the  gate  over  the  Gottingen  road,  1 
felt  tempted  to  bestow  a  malediction  upon  traveling,  from  its  mer- 
ciless breaking  of  all  links,  as  soon  as  formed.  It  was  painful  to 
think  we  should  meet  no  more.  The  tears  started  into  his  eyes, 
and  feeling  a  mist  gathering  over  mine,  I  gave  his  hand  a  parting 
pressure,  turned  my  back  upon  Cassel  and  started  up  the  long 
mountain,  at  a  desperate  rate.  On  the  summit  I  passed  out  of 
Hesse  into  Hanover,  and  began  to  descend  the  remaining  six 
miles.  The  road  went  dov/n  by  many  windings,  but  1  shortened 
the  way  considerably  by  a  foot-path  through  a  mossy  old  forest. 
The  hills  bordering;  the  Weser  are  covered  with  wood,  through 
which  I  saw  the  little  red-roofed  city  of  Miinden,  at  the  bottom. 
I  stopped  there  for  the  night,  and  next  morning  walked  around 
the  place.  It  is  one  of  the  old  German  cities  that  have  not  yet 
felt  the  effect  of  the  changing  spirit  of  the  age.  It  is  still  walled, 
thouo-h  the  towers  are  fallins^  to  ruin.  The  streets  are  narrow, 
crooked,  and  full  of  ugly  old  houses,  and  to  stand  in  the  little 
square  before  the  public  buildings,  one  would  think  himself  born 
in  the  sixteenth  century.  Just  below  the  city  the  Werra  and 
Fulda  unite  and  form  the  Weser.  The  triangular  point  has  been 
made  into  a  public  walk,  and  the  little  steamboat  was  lying  at 
anchor  near,  waiting  to  start  for  Bremen. 

In  the  afternoon  I  got  into  tlie  omnibus  for  Gottingen.  The 
ride  over  the  wild,  dreary,  monotonous  hills  was  not  at  all  inter- 
esting. There  were  two  other  passengers  inside,  one  of  whom,  a 
grave,  elderly  man,  took  a  great  interest  in  America,  but  the  con- 
versation was  principally  on  his  side,  for  I  had  been  taken  with  a 
fever  in  Miinden.  I  lay  crouched  up  in  the  corner  of  the  vehi- 
cle, trying  to  keep  off  the  chills  which  constantly  came  over  me, 


116  VIEWS  A-FOOT- 


and  wishing  only  for  Gottingen,  that  I  might  obtain  medicine  and 
a  bed.  We  reached  it  at  last,  and  I  got  out  with  my  knapsack 
and  walked  wearily  through  half  a  dozen  streets  till  I  saw  an 
inn.  But  on  entering,  I  found  it  so  dark  and  dirty  and  unfriend- 
ly, that  I  immediately  went  out  again  and  hired  the  first  pleasant 
looking  boy  I  met,  to  take  me  to  a  good  hotel.  He  conducted  me 
to  the  first  one  in  the  city.  I  felt  a  trepidation  of  pocket,  but  my 
throbbing  head  plead  more  powerfully,  so  I  ordered  a  comfortable 
room  and  a  physician.  The  host,  Herr  Wilhelm,  sent  for  Pro- 
fessor Trefurt,  of  the  University,  who  told  me  I  had  over-exerted 
myself  in  walking.  He  made  a  second  call  the  next  day,  when, 
as  he  was  retiring,  I  inquired  the  amount  of  his  fee.  He  begged 
to  be  excused  and  politely  bowed  himself  out.  1  inquired  the 
meaning  of  this  of  Herr  Wilhelm,  who  said  it  was  customary  for 
travellers  to  leave  what  they  chose  for  the  physician,  as  there 
was  no  regular  fee.  He  added,  moreover,  that  twenty  groschen, 
or  about  sixty  cents,  was  sufficient  for  the  two  visits  ! 

I  stayed  in  Gottingen  two  dull,  dreary,  miserable  days,  without 
getting  much  better.  I  took  but  one  short  walk  through  the  city, 
in  which  I  saw  the  outsides  of  a  few  old  churches  and  got  a  hard 
fall  on  the  pavement.  Thinking  that  the  cause  of  my  illness 
might  perhaps  become  its  cure,  I  resolved  to  go  on  rather  than 
remain  in  the  melancholy — in  spite  of  its  black-eyed  maidens, 
melancholy — Gottingen.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  da)^,  I 
took  the  post  to  Nordheim,  about  twelve  miles  distant.  The  Got- 
tingen valley,  down  which  we  drove,  is  green  and  beautiful,  and 
the  trees  seem  to  have  come  out  all  at  once.  We  were  not  with- 
in sight  of  the  Hartz,  but  the  mountains  along  the  Weser  were 
visible  on  the  left.  The  roads  were  extremely  muddy  from  the 
late  rains,  so  that  I  proceeded  but  slowly. 

A  blue  range  along  the  horizon  told  me  of  the  Hartz,  as  I 
passed  ;  although  there  were  some  Jlne  side-glimpses  through  the 
hills,  I  did  not  see  much  of  them  till  I  reached  Osterode,  about 
twelve  miles  further.  Here  the  country  begins  to  assume  a  dif- 
ferent aspect.  The  city  lies  in  a  narrow  valley,  and  as  the  road 
goes  down  a  steep  hill  towards  it,  one  sees  on  each  side  many 
quarries  of  gypsum,  and  in  front  the  gloomy  pine  mountains  are 
piled  one  above  another  in  real  Alpine  style.    But  alas !  the  city, 


SCENERY  OF   THE  HARTZ.  117 

though  it  looks  exceedingly  romantic  from  above,  is  one  oi"  the 
dirtiest  I  ever  saw.  I  stopped  at  Herzberg,  six  miles  farther,  for 
the  night.  The  scenery  was  very  striking  ;  and  its  effect  was 
much  heightened  by  a  sky  full  of  black  clouds,  which  sent  down 
a  hail-storm  as  they  passed  over.  The  hills  are  covered  with 
pine,  fir  and  larch.  The  latter  tree,  in  its  first  foliage,  is  most 
delicate  and  beautiful.  Every  bough  is  like  a  long  ostrich  plume, 
and  when  one  of  them  stands  among  the  dark  pines,  it  seems  so 
light  and  airy  that  the  wind  might  carry  it  away.  Just  opposite 
Herzberg,  the  Hartz  stands  in  its  gloomy  and  mysterious  gran- 
deur, and  I  went  to  sleep  with  the  pleasant  thought  that  an  hour's 
walk  on  the  morrow  would  shut  me  up  in  its  deep  recesses. 

The  next  morning  I  entered  them.  The  road  led  up  a  nar- 
row mountain  valley,  down  which  a  stream  was  rushing — on  all 
sides  were  magnificent  forests  of  pine.  It  was  glorious  to  look 
down  their  long  aisles,  dim  and  silent,  with  a  floor  of  thick  green 
moss.  There  was  just  room  enough  for  the  road  and  the  wild 
stream  which  wound  its  way  zigzag  between  the  hills,  affording 
the  most  beautiful  mountain-view  along  the  whole  route.  As  I 
ascended,  the  mountains  became  rougher  and  wilder,  and  in  the 
shady  hollows  were  still  drifts  of  snow.  Enjoying  every  thing 
very  much,  I  walked  on  without  taking  notice  of  the  road,  and  on 
reaching  a  wild,  rocky  chasm  called  the  "  Schlucht,"  was  obliged 
to  turn  aside  and  take  a  footpath  over  a  high  mountain  to  Andrcas- 
berg,  a  town  built  on  a  summit  two  thousand  feet  above  the  sea. 
It  is  inhabited  almost  entirely  by  the  workmen  in  the  mines. 

The  way  from  Andreasberg  to  the  Brocken  leads  along  the 
Rehberger  Graben,  which  carry  water  about  six  miles  for  the  ore- 
works.  After  going  through  a  thick  pine  wood,  I  came  out  on 
the  mountain-side,  where  rough  crags  overhung  the  way  above, 
and  through  the  tops  of  the  trees  I  had  glimpses  into  the  gorge 
below.  It  was  scenery  of  the  wildest  character.  Directly  op- 
posite rose  a  mountain  wall,  dark  and  stern  through  the  gloomy 
sky  ;  far  below  the  little  stream  of  the  Oder  foamed  over  the 
rocks  with  a  continual  roar,  and  one  or  two  white  cloud- wreaths 
were  curling  up  from  the  forests. 

I  followed  the  water-ditch  around  every  projection  of  the  moun- 
tain, still  ascending  higher  amid  the  same  wild  scenery,  till  at  length 


118  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


I  reached  the  Oderteich,  a  great  dam,  in  a  kind  of  valley  formed 
by  some  mountain  peaks  on  the  side  of  the  Brocken.  It  has  a 
breastwork  of  granite,  very  firm,  and  furnishes  a  continual  sup- 
ply of  water  for  the  works.  It  began  to  rain  soon,  and  I  took  a 
foot.path  which  went  winding  up  through  the  pine  wood.  The 
storm  still  increased,  till  everything  was  cloud  and  rain,  so  I  was 
obliged  to  stop  about  five  o'clock  at  Oderbruch,  a  toll-house  and 
tavern  on  the  side  of  the  Brocken,  on  the  boundary  between 
Brunswick  and  Hanover — the  second  highest  inhabited  house  in 
the  Hartz.  The  Brocken  was  invisible  throug-h  the  storm  and 
the  weather  forboded  a  difficult  ascent.  The  night  was  cold,  but 
by  a  warm  fire  I  let  the  winds  howl  and  the  rain  beat.  When  I 
awoke  the  next  morning,  we  were  in  clouds.  They  were  thick 
on  every  side,  hiding  what  little  view  there  was  through  the  open- 
ings of  the  forest.  After  breakfast,  however,  they  were  some- 
what thinner,  and  I  concluded  to  start  for  the  Brocken.  It  is  not 
the  usual  way  for  travellers  who  ascend,  being  not  only  a  bad 
road  but  difficult  to  find,  as  I  soon  discovered.  The  clouds  gath- 
ered around  again  after  I  set  out,  and  I  was  obliged  to  walk  in  a 
storm  of  mingled  rain  and  snow.  The  snow  lay  several  feet  deep 
in  the  forests,  and  the  path  was,  in  many  places,  quite  drifted 
over.  The  white  cloud-masses  were  whirled  past  by  the  wind, 
continually  enveloping  me  and  shutting  out  every  view.  Durinor 
the  winter  the  path  had  become,  in  many  places,  the  bed  of  a 
mountain  torrent,  so  that  I  was  obliged  sometimes  to  wade  knee- 
deep  in  snow,  and  sometimes  to  walk  over  the  wet,  spongy  moss, 
crawling  under  the  long,  dripping  branches  of  the  stunted  pines. 
After  a  long  time  of  such  dreary  travelling,  I  came  to  two  rocks 
called  the  Stag  Horns,  standing  on  a  little  peak.  The  storm,  now 
all  snow,  blew  more  violently  than  ever,  and  the  path  became  lost 
under  the  deep  drifts. 

Comforting  myself  with  the  assurance  that  if  I  could  not  find 
it,  I  could  at  least  make  my  way  back,  I  began  searching,  and 
after  some  time,  came  upon  it  again.  Here  the  forest  ceased  ; 
the  way  led  on  large  stones  over  a  marshy  ascending  plain,  but 
what  was  above,  or  on  either  side,  I  could  not  see.  It  was  soli- 
tude of  the  most  awful  kind.  There  was  nothing  but  the  storm, 
which  had  already  wet  me  through,  and  the  bleak  gray  waste  of 


CLIMBING  THE  BROCKEN  119 


tocks.  It  grew  steeper  and  steeper  ;  I  could  barely  trace  the 
path  by  the  rocks  which  were  worn,  and  the  snow  threatened 
soon  to  cover  these.  Added  to  this,  although  the  walking  and 
fresh  mountain  air  had  removed  my  illness,  I  was  still  weak  from 
the  effects  of  it,  and  the  consequences  of  a  much  longer  exposure 
to  the  storm  were  greatly  to  be  feared.  I  was  wondering  if  the 
wind  increased  at  the  same  rate,  how  much  longer  it  would  be 
before  I  should  be  carried  off,  when  suddenly  something  loomed 
up  above  me  through  the  storm.  A  few  steps  more  and  I  stood 
beside  the  Brocken  House,  on  the  very  summit  of  the  mountain  ! 
The  mariner,  who  has  been  floatino-  for  davs  on  a  wreck  at  sea, 
could  scarcely  be  more  rejoiced  at  a  friendly  sail,  than  I  was  on 
entering  the  low  building.  Two  large  Alpine  dogs  in  the  pas- 
sage, as  I  walked  in,  dripping  with  wet,  gave  notice  to  the  in- 
mates, and  I  was  soon  ushered  into  a  warm  room,  where  I  changed 
my  soaked  garments  for  dry  ones,  and  sat  down  by  the  fire  with 
feelings  of  comfort  not  easily  imagined.  The  old  landlord  was 
quite  surprised,  on  hearing  the  path  by  which  I  came,  that  I  found 
the  way  at  all.  The  summit  was  wrapped  in  the  thickest  cloud, 
and  he  gave  me  no  hope  for  several  hours  of  any  prospect  at  all, 
so  I  sat  down  and  looked  over  the  Stranger's  Album. 

1  saw  but  two  names  from  the  United  States — B.  F.  Atkins,  of 
Boston,  and  C.  A.  Hay,  from  York,  Pa.  There  were  a  great 
many  long-winded  German  poems — among  them,  one  by  Schell- 
ing,  the  philosopher.  Some  of  them  spoke  of  having  seen  the 
"Spectre  of  the  Brocken."  I  inquired  of  the  landlord  about  the 
phenomenon  ;  he  says  in  winter  it  is  frequently  seen,  in  summer 
more  seldom.  The  cause  is  very  simple.  It  is  always  seen  at 
sunrise,  when  the  eastern  side  of  the  Brocken  is  free  from  clouds, 
and  at  the  same  time,  the  mist  rises  from  the  valley  on  the  oppo- 
sits  side.  The  shadow  of  every  thing  on  the  Brocken  is  then 
thrown  in  grand  proportions  upon  the  mist,  and  is  seen  surrounded 
with  a  luminous  halo.  It  is  somewhat  singular  that  such  a  spec- 
tacle can  be  seen  upon  the  Brocken  alone,  but  this  is  probably  ac- 
counted for  by  the  formation  of  the  mountain,  which  collects  the 
mist  at  just  such  a  distance  from  the  summit  as  to  render  the 
sliadow  visible. 

Soon  after  dinner  the  storm  subsided  and  the  clouds  separated 


l2o  views  a-foot. 


a  little.  I  could  see  down  through  the  rifts  on  the  plains  of 
Brunswick,  and  sometimes,  when  they  opened  a  little  more,  the 
mountains  below  us  to  the  east  and  the  adjoining  plains,  as  far 
as  Magdeburg.  It  was  like  looking  on  the  earth  from  another 
planet,  or  from  some  point  in  the  air  which  had  no  connection 
with  it ;  our  station  was  completely  surrounded  by  clouds,  roll- 
ing in  great  masses  around  us,  now  and  then  giving  glimpses 
through  their  openings  of  the  blue  plains,  dotted  with  cities  and 
villages,  far  below.  At  one  time  when  they  were  tolerably  well 
separated,  I  ascended  the  tower,  fifty  feet  high,  standing  near 
the  Brocken  House.  The  view  on  three  sides  was  quite  clear, 
and  I  can  easily  imagine  what  a  magnificent  prospect  it  must  be 
in  fine  weather.  The  Brocken  is  only  about  four  thousand  feet 
high,  nearly  the  same  as  the  loftiest  peak  of  the  Catskill,  but 
being  the  highest  mountain  in  Northern  Germany,  it  commands 
a  more  extensive  prospect.  Imagine  a  circle  described  with  a 
radius  of  a  hundred  miles,  comprising  thirty  cities,  two  or  three 
hundred  villao;es  and  one  whole  mountain  district !  We  could 
see  Brunsv/ick  and  Magdeburg,  and  beyond  them  the  great  plain 
which  extends  to  the  North  Sea  in  one  direction  and  to  Berlin  in 
the  other,  while  directly  below  us  lay  the  dark  mountains  of  the 
Hartz,  with  little  villages  in  their  sequestered  valleys.  It  was 
but  a  few  moments  I  could  look  on  this  scene — in  an  instant  the 
clouds  sw^ept  together  again  and  completely  hid  it.  In  accord- 
ance with  a  custom  of  the  mountain,  one  of  the  girls  made  me  a 
"  Brocken  nosegay,"  of  heather,  lichens  and  moss.  I  gave  her 
a  few  pfennings  and  stowed  it  away  carefully  in  a  corner  of  my 
knapsack. 

I  now  began  descending  the  east  side,  by  a  good  road  over 
fields  of  bare  rock  and  through  large  forests  of  pine.  Two  or 
three  bare  brown  peaks  rose  opposite  with  an  air  of  the  wildest 
sublimity,  and  in  many  places  through  the  forest  towered  lofty 
crags.  This  is  the  way  by  which  Goethe  brings  Faust  up  the 
Brocken,  and  the  scenery  is  graphically  described  in  that  part 
of  the  poem.  At  the  foot  of  the  mountain  is  the  little  village  of 
Schiercke,  the  highest  in  the  Hartz.  Here  I  took  a  narrow  path 
through  the  woods,  and  after  following  a  tediously  long  road  over 
the  hills,  reached  Elbingerode,  where  I  spent  the  night,  and  left 


THE  ROSSTRAPPE  AND    ITS  LEGEND.  121 

the  next  morning  for  Blankenburg.  I  happened  to  take  the 
wrong  roadj  however,  and  went  through  Rubeland,  a  little  vil- 
lage in  the  valley  of  the  Bode.  There  are  many  iron  works 
here,  and  two  celebrated  caves,  called  "  Baumann's  Hohle,"  and 
"  Biel's  Hohle."  I  kept  on  through  the  gray,  rocky  hills  to  Hutten- 
rode,  where  1  inquired  the  way  to  the  Rosstrappe,  but  was  directed 
wrong,  and  after  walking  nearly  two  hours  in  a  heavy  rain,  ar- 
rived at  Ludwigshutte,  on  the  Bode,  in  one  of  the  wildest  and 
loneliest  corners  of  the  Hartz.  I  dried  my  wet  clothes  at  a  little 
inn,  ate  a  dinner  of  bread  and  milk,  and  learning  that  I  was 
just  as  far  from  the  Rosstrappe  as  ever,  and  that  the  way  was 
impossible  to  find  alone,  I  hunted  up  a  guide. 

We  went  over  the  mountains  through  a  fine  old  forest,  for 
about  two  hours,  and  came  out  on  the  brow  of  a  hill  near  the 
end  of  the  Hartz,  with  a  beautiful  view  of  the  country  below 
and  around.  Passing  the  little  inn,  the  path  led  through  thick 
bushes  along  the  summit,  over  a  narrow  ledge  of  rocks  that 
seemed  to  stretch  out  into  the  air,  for  on  either  side  the  foot  of 
the  precipice  vanished  in  the  depth  below. 

Arrived  at  last  at  the  end,  I  looked  around  me.  What  a  spec- 
tacle !  I  was  standing  on  the  end  of  a  line  of  precipice  which 
ran  out  from  the  mountain  like  a  wall  for  several  hundred  feet — 
the  hills  around  rising  up  perpendicularly  from  the  gorge  be- 
low, where  the  Bode  pressed  into  a  narrow  channel  foamed  its 
way  through.  Sharp  masses  of  gray  rock  rose  up  in  many  places 
from  the  main  body  like  pillars,  with  trees  clinging  to  the  clefts, 
and  although  the  defile  was  near  seven  hundred  feet  deep,  the 
summits,  in  one  place,  were  very  near  to  one  another.  Near  the 
point  at  which  I  stood,  which  was  secured  by  a  railing,  was  an 
impression  in  the  rock  like  the  hoof  of  a  giant  horse,  from  which 
the  place  takes  its  name.  It  is  very  distinct  -and  perfect,  and 
nearly  two  feet  in  length. 

I  went  back  to  the  little  inn  and  sat  down  to  rest  and  chat 
awhile  with  the  talkative  landlady.  Notwithstanding  her  horrible 
Prussian  dialect,  I  was  much  amused  with  the  budget  of  wonders, 
which  she  keeps  for  the  information  of  travelers.  Among  other 
things,  she  related  to  me  the  legend  of  the  Rosstrappe,  which  I 
give   ill   her  own   words :   "  A   great    many  hundred  years  ago, 

7 


122  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


when  there  were  plenty  of  giants  through  the  world,  there  was  a 
certain  beautiful  princess,  who  was  very  much  loved  by  one  of 
them.  Now,  although  the  parents  of  this  princess  were  afraid 
of  the  giant,  and  wanted  her  to  marry  him,  she  herself  hated 
him,  because  she  was  in  love  with  a  brave  knight.  But,  you  see, 
the  brave  knight  could  do  nothing  against  the  great  giant,  and 
so  a  day  was  appointed  for  the  wedding  of  the  princess.  When 
they  were  married,  the  giant  had  a  great  feast  and  he  and  all 
his  servants  got  drunk.  So  the  princess  mounted  his  black  horse 
and  rode  away  over  the  mountains,  till  she  reached  this  valley. 
She  stood  on  that  square  rock  which  you  see  there  opposite  to  us, 
and  when  she  saw  her  knight  on  this  side,  where  we  are,  she 
danced  for  joy,  and  the  rock  is  called  the  Tcuizplatz,  to  this  very 
day.  But  when  the  giant  found  she  had  gone,  he  followed  her 
as  fast  as  he  might ;  then  a  holy  bishop,  who  saw  the  princess, 
blessed  the  feet  of  her  horse,  and  she  jumped  on  it  across  to  this 
side,  where  his  fore  feet  made  two  marks  in  the  rock,  though 
there  is  only  one  left  now.  You  should  not  laugh  at  this,  for  if 
there  were  giants  then,  there  must  have  been  very  big  horses  too, 
as  one  can  see  from  the  hoofmark,  and  the  valley  was  narrower 
then  than  it  is  now.  My  dear  man,  who  is  very  old  now,  (you 
see  him  through  the  bushes,  there,  digging,)  says  it  was  so  when 
he  was  a  child,  and  that  the  old  people  living  then,  told  him 
there  were  once  four  just  such  hoof-tracks,  on  the  Tanzplatz, 
where  the  horse  stood  before  he  jumped  over.  And  we  cannot 
doubt  the  words  of  the  good  old  people,  for  there  were  many 
strange  things  then,  we  all  know,  v/hich  the  dear  Lord  does  not 
let  happen  now.  But  I  must  tell  you,  lieber  Herr,  that  the  giant 
tried  to  jump  after  her  and  fell  away  down  into  the  valley, 
where  they  say  he  lives  yet  in  the  shape  of  a  big  black  dog, 
guarding  the  crown  of  the  princess,  which  fell  off  as  she  was 
going  over.  But  this  part  of  the  story  is  perhaps  not  true,  as 
nobody,  that  I  ever  heard  of,  has  seen  either  the  black  dog  or  the 
crown  1" 

After  listening  to  similar  gossip  for  a  while,  I  descended  the 
mountain-side,  a  short  distance  to  the  Biilowshohe.  This  is  a 
rocky  shaft  that  shoots  upward  from  the  mountain,  having  from 
its  top  a  glorious  view  through  the  door  which  the  Bode  makes  in 


A  SUSPICIOUS  INN  123 

passing  out  of  the  Hartz.  I  could  see  at  a  great  distance  the 
towers  of  Magdeburg,  and  further,  the  vast  plain  stretching  away 
like  a  sea  towards  Berlin.  From  Thale,  the  village  below,  where 
the  air  was  warmer  than  in  the  Hartz  and  the  fruit-trees  already 
in  blossom,  it  was  four  hours'  walk  to  Halberstadt,  by  a  most  tire- 
some road  over  long  ranges  of  hills,  all  ploughed  and  planted,  and 
extending  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  without  a  single  fence  or 
hedge.  It  is  pleasant  to  look  over  scenes  where  nature  is  so  free 
and  unshackled ;  but  the  people,  alas !  wear  the  fetters.  The 
setting  sun,  which  lighted  up  the  old  Brocken  and  his  snowy  top, 
showed  me  also  Halberstadt,  the  end  of  my  Hartz  journey ;  but 
its  deceitful  towers  fled  as  I  approached,  and  I  was  half  dead  v/ith 
fatigue  on  arriving  there. 

The  ghostly,  dark  and  echoing  castle  of  an  inn  (the  Black 
Eagle)  where  I  stopped,  was  enough  to  inspire  a  lonely  traveller, 
like  myself,  with  unpleasant  fancies.  It  looked  heavy  and  mas- 
sive enough  to  have  been  a  stout  baron's  stronghold  in  some  for- 
mer  century  ;  the  taciturn  landlord  and  his  wife,  who,  with  a 
solemn  servant  girl,  were  the  only  tenants,  had  grown  into  per- 
fect keeping  with  its  gloomy  character.  When  I  groped  my  way 
under  the  heavy,  arched  portal  into  the  guests'  room — a  large, 
lofty,  cheerless  hall — all  was  dark,  and  I  could  barely  perceive, 
by  the  little  light  which  came  through  two  deep-set  windows,  the 
inmates  of  the  house,  sitting  on  opposite  sides  of  the  room.  After 
some  delay,  the  hostess  brought  a  light.  I  entreated  her  to  bring 
me  something  instantly  for  supper,  and  in  half  an  hour  she  placed 
a  mixture  on  the  table,  the  like  of  which  I  never  wish  to  taste 
again.  She  called  it  beer-soup  f  I  found,  on  examination,  it  was 
beer,  boiled  with  meat,  and  seasoned  strongly  with  pepper  and 
salt !  My  hunger  disappeared,  and  pleading  fatigue  as  an  excuse 
for  want  of  appetite,  1  left  the  table.  When  I  was  ready  to  re- 
tire, the  landlady,  who  had  beeu  sitting  silently  in  a  dark  cor- 
ner, called  the  solemn  servant  girl,  who  took  up  a  dim  lamp,  and 
bade  me  follow  her  to  the  "  sleeping  chamber."  Taking  up  my 
knapsack  and  staff,  I  stumbled  down  the  steps  into  the  arched 
gateway  ;  before  me  was  a  long,  damp,  deserted  court-yard,  across 
which  the  girl  took  her  way.  I  followed  her  with  some  astonish 
ment,  imagining  where  the  sleeping  chamber  could  be,  when  she 


124  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


stopped  at  a  small,  one-story  building,  standing  alone  in  the  yard. 
Opening  the  door  with  a  rusty  key,  she  led  me  into  a  bare  room, 
a  few  feet  square,  opening  into  another,  equally  bare,  with  the 
exception  of  a  rough  bed.  "Certainly,"  said  I,  "I  am  not  to 
sleep  here  !"  "  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  this  is  the  sleeping  cham- 
ber," at  the  same  time  setting  down  the  light  and  disappearing. 
I  examined  the  place — it  smelt  mouldy,  and  the  walls  were  cold 
and  damp ;  there  had  been  a  window  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  but 
it  was  walled  up,  and  that  at  the  foot  was  also  closed  to  within  a 
few  inches  of  the  top.  The  bed  was  coarse  and  dirty ;  and  on 
turning  down  the  ragged  covers,  I  saw  with  horror,  a  dark  brown 
stain  near  the  pillow,  like  tha"  of  blood  !  For  a  moment  I  hesi- 
tated whether  to  steal  out  of  tne  inn,  and  seek  another  lodging, 
late  as  it  was ;  at  last,  overcoming  my  fears,  I  threw  my  clothes 
into  a  heap,  and  lay  down,  placing  my  heavy  staff  at  the  head  of 
the  bed.  Persons  passed  up  and  down  the  courtyard  several 
times,  the  light  of  their  lamps  streaming  through  the  narrow  aper- 
ture up  against  the  ceiling,  and  I  distinctly  heard  voices,  which 
seemed  to  be  near  the  door.  Twice  did  I  sit  up  in  bed,  breath- 
less, with  my  hand  on  the  cane,  in  the  most  intense  anxiety  ;  but 
fatigue  finally  overcame  suspicion,  and  I  sank  into  a  deep  sleep, 
from  which  I  was  gladly  awakened  by  daylight.  In  reality, 
there  may  have  been  no  cause  for  my  fears — I  may  have  wronged 
the  lonely  innkeepers  by  them ;  but  certainly  no  place  or  cir- 
cumstances ever  seemed  to  me  more  appropriate  to  a  deed  of 
robbery  or  crime.  I  left  immediately,  and  when  a  turn  in  the 
street  hid  the  ill-omened  front  of  the  inn,  I  began  to  breathe  with 
my  usual  freedom. 


MAGDEBURG.  125 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


NOTES    IN    LETPSIC    AND    DRESDEN. 


Leipsic,  May  8. — I  have  now  been  nearly  two  days  in  this 
wide-famed  city,  and  the  more  I  see  of  it  the  better  I  like  it.  It 
i*s  a  pleasant,  friendly  town,  old  enough  to  be  interesting,  and  new 
enough  to  be  comfortable.  There  is  much  active  business  life, 
through  which  it  is  fast  increasing  in  size  and  beauty.  Its  pub- 
lishing establishments  are  the  largest  in  the  world,  and  its  annual 
fairs  attended  by  people  from  all  parts  of  Europe.  This  is  much 
for  a  city  ^ to  accomplish,  situated  alone  in  the  middle  of  a  great 
plain,  with  no  natural  charms  of  scenery  or  treasures  of  art  to 
attract  strangers.  The  energy  and  enterprise  of  its  merchants 
have  accomplished  all  this,  and  it  now  stands,  in  importance, 
among  the  first   cities  of  Europe. 

The  bad  weather  obliged  me  to  take  the  railroad  at  Halber- 
stadt,  to  keep  the  appointment  with  my  friend,  in  this  city.  I  left 
at  six  for  Magdeburg,  and  after  two  hours'  ride  over  a  dull,  tire- 
some plain,  rode  along  under  the  mounds  and  fortifications  by  the 
side  of  the  Elbe,  and  entered  the  old  town.  It  was  very  cold, 
and  the  streets  were  muddy,  so  I  contented  myself  with  looking 
at  the  Broadway,  (der  hreite  Weg,)  the  Cathedral  and  one  or  two 
curious  old  churches,  and  in  walking  along  the  parapet  leading 
to  the  fortress,  which  has  a  view  of  the  winding  Elbe.  The 
Citadel  was  interesting  from  having  been  the  prison  in  which 
Baron  Trenck  was  confined,  whose  narrative  I  read  years  ago. 
when  quite  a  child. 

We  were  soon  on  the  road  to  Leipsic.  The  way  was  over  one 
great,  uninterrupted  plain — a  more  monotonous  country,  even, 
than  Belgium.  Two  of  the  passengers  in  the  car  with  me  were 
much  annoyed  at  being  taken  by  the  railway  agents  for  Poles. 
Their  movements   were  strictly  watched  by  the  gens  d'arme  at 


126  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


every  station  we  passed,  and  they  were  not  even  allowed  to  sil 
together  !  At  Kothen  a  branch  track  went  off  to  Berlin.  We 
passed  by  Halle  without  being  able  to  see  anything  of  it  or  its 
University,  and  arrived  here  in  four  hours  after  leaving  Magde- 
burg. 

On  my  first  walk  around  the  cit}'',  yesterday  morning,  I  passed 
the  Augustus  Platz — a  broad  green  lawn,  on  which  front  the  Uni- 
versity and  several  other  public  buildings.  A  chain  of  beautiful 
promenades  encircles  the  city,  on  the  site  of  its  old  fortifications. 
Following  their  course  through  walks  shaded  by  lerge  trees  and 
bordered  with  flowering  shrubs,  I  passed  a  small  but  chaste  mon- 
ument to  Sebastian  Bach,  the  composer,  which  was  erected  almost 
entirely  at  the  private  cost  of  Mendelssohn,  and  stands  opposite 
the  building  in  which  Bach  once  directed  the  choirs.  As  I  was 
standing  beside  it,  a  glorious  choral,  swelled  by  a  hundred  voices, 
came  through  the  open  windows,  like  a  tribute  to  the  genius  of 
the  great  master. 

Having  found  my  friend  we  went  together  to  the  Steim  Warte, 
or  Observatory,  which  gives  a  fine  view  of  the  country  around 
the  city,  and  in  particular  the  battle  field.  The  Castellan  who  is 
stationed  there,  is  well  acquainted  with  the  localities,  and  pointed 
out  the  position  of  the  hostile  armies.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
bloody  and  hard-fought  battles  which  history  records.  The  army 
of  Napoleon  stretched  like  a  semicircle  around  the  southern  and 
eastern  sides  of  the  city,  and  the  plain  beyond  was  occupied  by 
the  allies,  whose  forces  met  together  here.  Schwarzenberg,  with 
his  Austrians,  came  from  Dresden  ;  Blucher,  from  Halle,  with 
the  Emperor  Alexander.  Their  forces  amounted  to  three  hun- 
dred thousand,  while  those  of  Napoleon  ranked  at  one  hundred 
and  ninety-two  thousand  men.  It  must  have  been  a  terrific  scene. 
Four  days  raged  the  battle,  and  the  meeting  of  half  a  million  of 
men  in  deadly  conflict  was  accompanied  by  the  thunder  of  sixteen 
hundred  cannon.  The  small  rivers  which  flow  through  Leipsic 
were  swollen  with  blood,  and  the  vast  plain  was  strewed  with 
more  than  fifty  thousand  dead.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  such 
slaughter,  while  looking  at  the  quiet  and  tranquil  landscape 
below.  It  seemed  more  like  a  legend  of  past  ages,  when  ignor- 
ance and  passion  led  men  to  murder  and  destroy,  than  an  event 


BATTLE   SCENES.  127 


which  the  last  half  century  witnessed.  For  the  sake  of  humanity 
it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  world  will  never  see  such  another. 

There  are  some  lovely  walks  around  Leipsic.  We  went  yes- 
terday  afternoon  with  a  few  friends  to  the  Rosenthal,  a  beautiful 
meadow,  bordered  by  forests  of  the  German  oak,  very  few  of 
whose  Druid  trunks  have  been  left  standing.  There  are  Swiss 
cottages  embowered  in  the  foliage,  where  every  afternoon  the 
social  citizens  assemble  to  drink  their  coffee  and  enjoy  a  few 
hours'  escape  from  the  noisy  and  dusty  streets.  One  can  walk 
for  miles  along  these  lovely  paths  by  the  side  of  the  velvet  mea- 
dows, or  the  banks  of  some  shaded  stream.  We  visited  the  little 
village  of  Golis,  a  shor-t  distance  off,  where,  in  the  second  story 
of  a  little  white  house,  hangs  the  sign  :  "  Schiller's  Room."  Some 
of  the  Leipsic  literati  have  built  a  stone  arch  over  the  entrance, 
with  the  inscription  above  :  "  Here  dwelt  Schiller  in  1795,  and 
wrote  his  Hymn  to  Joy."  Every  where  through  Germany  the 
remembrances  of  Schiller  are  sacred.  In  every  city  where  he 
lived,  they  show  his  dwelling.  They  know  and  reverence  the 
mighty  spirit  who  has  been  among  them.  The  little  room  where 
he  conceived  that  sublime  poem  is  hallowed  as  if  by  the  presence 
of  unseen  spirits. 

I  was  anxious  to  see  the  spot  where  Poniatowsky  fell.  We 
returned  over  the  plain  to  the  city  and  passed  in  at  the  gate  by 
which  the  Cossacks  entered,  pursuing  the  flying  French.  Cross- 
ing the  lower  part,  we  came  to  the  little  river  Elster,  in  whose 
waves  the  gallant  prince  sank.  The  stone  bridge  by  which  we 
crossed  was  blown  up  by  the  French,  to  cut  off  pursuit.  Napo- 
leon had  given  orders  that  it  should  not  be  blown  up  till  the 
Poles  had  all  passed  over,  as  the  river,  though  narrow,  is  quite 
deep,  and  the  banks  are  steep.  Nevertheless,  his  officers  did  not 
wait,  and  the  Poles,  thus  exposed  to  the  fire  of  the  enemy,  were 
obliged  to  plunge  into  the  stream  to  join  the  French  army,  which 
had  begun  the  retreat  towards  Frankfort.  Poniatowsky,  severely 
wounded,  made  his  way  through  a  garden  near  and  escaped  on 
horseback  into  the  water.  He  became  entangled  among  the  fugi- 
tives and  sank.  By  walking  a  little  distance  alons!:  the  road  to- 
wards  Frankfort,  we  could  see  the  spot  where  his  body  was  taken 
out  of  the  river;  it  i?  now  marked  by  a  square  stone,  covered 


128  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


with  the  names  of  his  countrymen  who  have  visited  it.  We  re- 
turned through  the  narrow  arched  way,  by  which  Napoleon  fled 
when  the  battle  was  lost. 

Another  interesting  place  in  Leipsic  is  Auerback's  Cellar, 
which,  it  is  said,  contains  an  old  manuscript  history  of  Faust, 
from  which  Goethe  derived  the  first  idea  of  his  poem.  He  used 
o  frequent  this  cellar,  and  one  of  his  scenes  in  "  Faust"  is  laid 
in  it.  We  looked  down  the  arched  passage  ;  not  wishing  to  pur- 
chase any  wine,  we  could  find  no  pretence  for  entering.  The 
streets  are  full  of  book  stores  and  one  half  the  business  of  the 
inhabitants  appears  to  consist  in  printing,  paper-making  and  bind- 
ing.  The  publishers  have  a  handsome  Exchange  of  their  own, 
and  during  the  Fairs,  the  amount  of  business  transacted  is  enor- 
mous. The  establishment  of  Brockhaus  is  contained  in  an  im- 
mense building,  adjoining  which  stands  his  dwelling,  in  the  midst 
of  magnificent  gardens.  That  of  Tauchnitz  is  not  less  cele- 
brated. His  edition  of  the  classics,  in  particular,  are  the  best 
that  have  ever  been  made  ;  and  he  has  lately  commenced  pub- 
lishing a  number  of  English  works,  in  a  cheap  form.  Otto 
Wigand,  who  has  also  a  large  establishment,  has  begun  to  issue 
translations  of  American  works.  He  has  already  published  Pres- 
cott  and  Bancroft,  and  I  believe  intends  giving  out  shortly,  trans- 
lations from  some  of  our  poets  and  novelists.  I  became  ac- 
quainted at  the  Museum,  with  a  young  German  author  who  had 
been  some  time  in  America,  and  was  well  versed  in  our  litera- 
ture. He  is  now  engaged  in  translating  American  works,  one 
of  which — Hofiinan's  "  Wild  Scenes  of  the  Forest  and  Prairie" 
— will  soon  appear.  In  no  place  in  Germany  have  I  found  more 
knowledge  of  our  country,  her  men  and  her  institutions,  than  in 
Leipsic,  and  as  yet  I  have  seen  few  that  would  be  preferable  as 
a  place  of  residence.  Its  attractions  lie  not  in  its  scenery,  but 
in  the  social  and  intellectual  character  of  its  inhabitants. 

May  11. — At  last  in  this  "  Florence  of  the  Elbe,"  as  the  Sax- 
ons have  christened  it.  Exclusive  of  its  glorious  galleries  of 
art,  which  are  scarcely  surpassed  by  any  in  Europe,  Dresden 
charms  one  by  the  natural  beauty  of  its  environs.  It  stands  in 
a  curve  of  the  Elbe,  in  the  midst  of  green  meadows,  gardens  and 
fine  old  woods,  with   the  hills  of  Saxony  sweeping  around  like 


RAPHAEL'S  MADONNA  129 


an  amphitheatre,  and  the  craggy  peaks  of  the  Highlands  looking 
at  it  from  afar.  The  domes  and  spires  at  a  distance  give  it  a 
rich  Italian  look,  which  is  heightened  by  the  white  villas,  em- 
bowered in  trees,  gleaming  on  the  hills  around.  In  the  streets 
there  is  no  bustle  of  business — nothing  of  the  din  and  confusion 
of  traific  which  mark  most  cities ;  it  seems  like  a  place  for  study 
and  quiet  enjoyment. 

The  railroad  brought  us  in  three  hours  from  Leipsic,  over  the 
eighty  miles  of  plain  that  intervene.  We  came  from  the  station 
through  the  JSeustadt,  passing  the  .Japanese  Palace  and  the  eques- 
trian statue  of  Augustus  the  Strong.  The  magnificent  bridge 
over  the  Elbe  was  so  much  injured  by  the  late  inundation  as  to 
be  impassable  ;  we  were  obliged  to  go  some  distance  up  the  river 
bank  and  cross  on  a  bridge  of  boats.  Next  morning  my  first 
search  was  for  the  picture  gallery.  We  set  j^  "*  random,  and 
after  passing  the  Church  of  Our  Lady,  with  its  lofty  dome  of  solid 
stone,  which  withstood  the  heaviest  bombs  during  the  war  with 
Frederick  the  Great,  came  to  an  open  square,  one  side  of  which 
was  occupied  by  an  old,  brown,  red-roofed  building,  which  I  at 
once  recognized,  from  pictures,  as  the  object  of  our  search. 

I  have  just  taken  a  last  look  at  the  gallery  this  morning,  and 
lefl  it  with  real  regret ;  for,  during  the  two  visits,  Raphael's 
heavenly  picture  of  the  Madonna  and  child  had  so  grown  into 
my  love  and  admiration,  that  it  was  painful  to  think  I  should 
never  see  it  again.  There  are  many  more  which  clung  so 
strongly  to  my  imagination,  gratifying  in  the  highest  degree  the 
love  for  the  Beautiful,  that  I  left  them  with  sadness,  and  the 
thought  that  I  would  now  only  have  the  memory.  I  can  see  the 
inspired  eye  and  god-like  brow  of  the  Jesus-child,  as  if  I  were 
still  standing  before  the  picture,  and  the  sweet,  holy  countenance 
of  the  Madonna  still  looks  upon  me.  Yet,  though  this  picture 
is  a  miracle  of  art,  the  first  glance  filled  me  with  disappointment. 
It  has  somewhat  faded,  during  the  three  hundred  years  thai, 
have  rolled  away  since  the  hand  of  Raphael  worked  on  the  can- 
vass, and  the  glass  with  which  it  is  covered  for  better  preser- 
vation, injures  the  effect.  After  I  had  gazed  on  it  awhile, 
every  thought  of  this  vanished.  The  figure  of  the  virgin  seemed 
to  soar  in  the  air,  and  it  was  difficult  to  think  the  clouds  were 
7* 


130  VIEWS    A-FOOT. 


not  in  motion.  An  aerial  lightness  clothes  her  form,  and  it  is 
perfectly  natural  for  such  a  figure  to  stand  among  the  clouds. 
Two  divine  cherubs  look  up  from  below,  and  in  her  arms  sits 
the  sacred  child.  Those  two  faces  beam  from  the  picture  like 
those  of  angels.  The  wild,  prophetic  eye  and  lofty  brow  of  the 
young  Jesus  chains  one  like  a  spell.  There  is  something  more 
than  mortal  in  its  expression — something  in  the  infant  face  which 
indicates  a  power  mightier  than  the  proudest  manhood.  There 
is  no  glory  around  the  head  ;  but  the  spirit  which  shines  from 
those  features,  marks  his  divinity.  In  the  sweet  face  of  the  mother 
there  speaks  a  sorrowful  foreboding  mixed  with  its  tenderness, 
as  if  she  knew  the  world  into  which  the  Saviour  was  born,  and 
foresaw  the  path  in  which  he  was  to  tread.  It  is  a  picture  which 
one  can  scarce  look  upon  without  tears. 

There  are  in  the  same  room  six  pictures  by  Correggio,  which 
are  said  to  be  among  his  best  works ;  one  of  them  his  celebrated 
Magdalen.  There  is  also  Correggio's  "  Holy  Night,"  or  the 
virgin  with  the  shepherds  in  the  manger,  in  which  all  the  light 
comes  from  the  body  of  the  child.  The  surprise  of  the  shep- 
herds is  most  beautifully  expressed.  In  one  of  the  halls  there  is 
a  picture  by  Van  der  Werff,  in  which  the  touching  story  of  Ha- 
gar  is  told  more  feelingly  than  words  could  do  it.  The  young 
Ishmael  is  represented  full  of  grief  at  parting  with  Isaac,  who, 
in  childish  unconsciousness  of  what  has  taken  place,  draws  in 
sport  the  corner  of  his  mother's  mantle  around  him,  and  smiles 
at  the  tears  of  his  lost  playmate.  Nothing  can  come  neater  real 
flesh  and  blood  than  the  two  portraits  of  Raphael  Mengs,  painted 
by  himself  w^hen  quite  young.  You  almost  think  the  artist  has 
in  sport  crept  behind  the  frame,  and  wishes  to  make  you  believe 
he  is  a  picture.  It  would  be  impossible  to  speak  of  half  the  gems 
of  art  contained  in  this  unrivalled  collection.  There  are  twelve 
large  halls,  containing  in  all  nearly  two  thousand  pictures. 

The  plain,  south  of  Dresden,  was  the  scene  of  the  hard-fought 
battle  between  Napoleon  and  the  allied  armies,  in  1813.  On  the 
heights  above  the  little  village  of  Racknitz,  Moreau  was  shot  on 
the  second  day  of  the  battle.  We  took  a  foot-path  through  the 
meaf'ows,  shaded  by  cherry  trees  in  bloom,  and  reached  the  spot 
after  an  hour's  walk.     The  monument  is  simple — a  square  block 


THE   GREEN  GALLERY.  131 

of  granite,  surmounted  by  a  helmet  and  sword,  with  the  inscrip- 
tion :  "  The  hero  Moreau  fell  here  hy  the  side  of  Alex(inder,  Au- 
gust 17th.  1813."  I  gathered,  as  a  memorial,  a  few  leaves  of  the 
oak  which  shades  it. 

By  applying  an  hour  before  the  appointed  time,  we  obtained 
admission  to  the  Royal  Library.  It  contains  three  hundred  thou- 
sand volumes — among  them  the  most  complete  collection  of  his- 
torical works  in  existence.  Each  hall  is  devoted  to  a  history  of 
a  separate  country,  and  one  large  room  is  filled  with  that  of  Sax- 
ony alone.  There  is  a  large  number  of  rare  and  curious  manu- 
scripts, among  which  are  old  Greek  works  of  the  seventh  and 
eighth  centuries  ;  a  Koran  which  once  belonged  to  the  Sultan 
Bajazet;  the  handwriting  of  Luther  and  Melancthon ;  a  manu- 
script volume  with  pen  and  ink  sketches,  by  Albert  Durer,  and 
the  earliest  works  after  the  invention  of  printing.  Among  these 
latter  was  a  book  published  by  Faust  and  Schaeffer,  at  Mayence, 
in  1457.  There  were  also  Mexican  manuscripts,  written  on  the 
Aloe  leaf,  and  many  illuminated  monkish  volumes  of  the  middle 
ages. 

We  were  fortunate  in  seeing  the  Grime  Gewolbe,  or  Green 
Gallery,  a  collection  of  jewels  and  costly  articles,  unsurpassed  in 
Europe.  The  entrance  is  only  granted  to  six  persons  at  a  time, 
who  pay  a  fee  of  two  thalers.  The  customary  way  is  to  employ 
a  Loh?ibedienter,  who  goes  around  from  one  hotel  to  another,  till 
he  has  collected  the  number,  when  he  brings  them  together  and 
conducts  them  to  the  person  in  the  palace,  who  has  charge  of  the 
treasures.  As  our  visit  happened  to  be  during  the  Pentecost  holi- 
days, when  every  body  in  Dresden  goes  to  the  mountains,  there 
was  some  difficulty  in  etfecting  this,  but  after  two  mornings 
spent  in  hunting  up  curious  travelers,  the  servant  finally  con- 
ducted us  in  triumph  to  the  palace.  The  first  hall  into  which  we 
were  ushered,  contained  works  in  bronze.  They  were  all  small, 
and  chosen  with  regard  to  their  artistical  value.  Some  by  John 
of  Bologna  were  exceedingly  fine,  as  was  also  a  group  in  iron, 
cut  out  of  a  single  block ;  perhaps  the  only  successful  attempt  in 
this  branch.  The  next  room  contained  statues,  and  vases  covered 
with  reliefs,  in  ivory.  The  most  remarkable  work  was  the  fall 
of  Lucifer  and  his  angels,  ccitaining  ninety-two  figures  in  all, 


132  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


carved  out  of  a  single  piece  of  ivory  sixteen  inches  high  !  It 
was  the  work  of  an  Italian  monk,  and  cost  hinn  many  years  of 
hard  labor.  There  were  two  tables  of  mosaic-work,  that  would 
not  be  out  of  place  in  the  fabled  halls  of  the  eastern  genii,  so 
much  did  they  exceed  my  former  ideas  of  human  skill.  The  tops 
were  of  jasper,  and  each  had  a  border  of  fruit  and  flowers,  in 
which  every  color  was  represented  by  some  precious  stone,  all 
with  the  utmost  delicacy  and  truth  to  nature  !  It  is  impossible  to 
conceive  the  splendid  effect  it  produced.  Besides  some  fine  pic- 
tures on  gold  by  Raphael  Mengs,  there  was  a  Madonna,  the 
largest  specimen  of  enamel  painting  in  existence. 

However  costly  the  contents  of  these  halls,  they  were  only  an 
introduction  to  those  which   followed.     Each   one  exceeded  the 
other  in  splendor  and  costliness.      The  walls  were  covered  to  the 
ceiling  with  rows  of  goblets,  vases,  &c.,  of  polished  jasper,  agate 
and  lapiz  lazuli.     Splendid  mosaic  tables  stood  around,  with  cas- 
kets of  the  most  exquisite   silver  and   gold  work  upon  them,  and 
vessels  of  solid  silver,  some  of  them  weighing  six  hundred  pounds 
were  placed  at  the  foot  of  the  columns.     We  were  shown  two 
goblets,  each  prized   at  six   thousand   thalers,  made  of  gold  and 
precious  stones ;   also  the  great  pearl  called  the   Spanish  Dwarf, 
nearly  as  large  as  a  pullet's  egg ;  globes  and  vases  cut  entirely 
out  of  the  mountain   crystal ;  magnificent  Nuremberg  watches 
and  clocks,  and  a  great  number  of  figures,  made  ingeniously  of 
rough   pearls  and  diamonds.     The  officer  showed  us  a  hen's  egg 
of  silver.     There  was  apparently  nothing   remarkable  about  it, 
but  by  unscrewing,  it  came  apart,  and  disclosed  the  yelk  of  gold. 
This  again  opened  and  a  golden  chicken  was  seen  ;  by  touching 
a  spring,   a  little  diamond  crown  came  from   the  inside,  and  the 
crown  being  again  taken   apart,  out  dropped  a  valuable  diamond 
ring  !     The  seventh  hall  contains  the  coronation  robes  of  Augus- 
tus II.,  of  Poland,  and  many  costly  specimens  of  carving  in  wood. 
A  cherry-stone  is  shown  in   a  glass  case,  which  has  one  hun- 
dred  and  twenty-five  faces,  all  perfectly  finished,  carved  upon  it  \ 
The  next  room  we  entered  sent  back  a  glare  of  splendor  that  per- 
fectly dazzled  us.     It  was  all  gold,  diamond,  ruby  and  sapphire ' 
Every  case  sent  out  such  a  glow  and  glitter  that  it  seemed  like  a 
cage  of  imprisoned  lightnings.     Wherever  the  eye  turned  it  was 


ROYAL  TREASURES.  133 

met  by  a  blaze  of  broken  rainbows.  They  were  there  by  hun- 
dreds, and  every  gem  was  a  fortune.  Whole  cases  of  swords, 
with  hilts  and  scabbards  of  solid  gold,  studded  with  gems  ;  the 
great  two-handed  coronation  sword  of  the  German  emperors  ;  dag- 
gers covered  with  brilliants  and  rubies;  diamond  buttons,  chains 
and  orders,  necklaces  and  bracelets  of  pearl  and  emerald,  and 
the  order  of  the  Golden  Fleece  made  in  gems  of  every  kind.  We 
were  also  shown  the  largest  known  onyx,  nearly  seven  inches 
long  and  four  inches  broad  !  One  of  the  most  remarkable  works 
is  the  throne  and  court  of  Aurungzebe,  the  Indian  king,  by  Ding- 
linger,  a  celebrated  goldsmith  of  the  last  century.  It  contains 
one  hundred  and  thirty-two  figures,  all  of  enamelled  gold,  and 
each  one  most  perfectly  and  elaborately  finished.  It  was  pur- 
chased by  Prince  Augustus  for  fifty-eight  thousand  thalers,* 
which  was  not  a  high  sum,  considering  that  the  making  of  it  occu- 
pied Dinglinger  and  thirteen  workmen  for  seven  years  ! 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  estimate  the  value  of  the  treasures 
these  halls  contain.  That  of  the  gold  and  jewels  alone  must 
be  many  millions  of  dollars,  and  the  amount  of  labor  expended 
on  these  toys  of  royalty  is  incredible.  As  monuments  of  patient 
and  untiring  toil,  they  are  interesting  :  but  it  is  sad  to  think  how 
much  labor  and  skill  and  energy  have  been  wasted,  in  producing 
things  which  are  useless  to  the  world,  and  only  of  secondary  im- 
portance as  works  of  art.  Perhaps,  however,  if  men  could  be 
diverted  by  such  play-things  from  more  dangerous  games,  it  would 
be  all  the  better. 

*  A  Prussian  or  Saxon  thaler  is  about  70  cts. 


134  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

RAMBBES    IN    THE    SAXON    SWITZERLAND. 

After  four  days'  sojourn  in  Dresden  we  shouldered  our  knap- 
sacks, not  to  be  laid  down  again  till  we  reached  Prague.  We 
were  elated  with  the  prospect  of  getting  among  the  hills  again, 
and  we  heeded  not  the  frequent  showers  which  had  dampened  the 
enjoyment  of  the  Pentecost  holidays,  to  the  good  citizens  of 
Dresden,  and  might  spoil  our  own.  So  we  trudged  gaily  along 
the  road  to  Pillnitz  and  waved  an  adieu  to  the  domes  behind  us 
as  the  forest  shut  them  out  from  view.  After  two  hours'  walk 
the  road  led  down  to  the  Elbe,  where  we  crossed  in  a  ferry-boat 
to  Pillnitz,  the  seat  of  a  handsome  palace  and  gardens,  belonging 
to  the  King  of  Saxony.  He  happened  to  be  there  at  the  time,  on 
an  afternoon  excursion  from  Dresden ;  as  we  had  seen  him  be- 
fore, in  the  latter  place,  we  passed  directly  on,  only  pausing  to 
admire  the  flower-beds  in  the  palace  court.  The  King  is  a  tall, 
benevolent  looking  man,  and  is  apparently  much  liked  by  his 
people.  As  far  as  I  have  yet  seen,  Saxony  is  a  prosperous  and 
happy  country.  The  people  are  noted  all  over  Germany  for  theii 
honest,  social  character,  which  is  written  on  their  cheerful,  open 
countenances.  On  our  entrance  into  the  Saxon  Switzerland,  at 
Pillnitz,  we  were  delighted  with  the  neatness  and  home-like  ap- 
pearance of  every  thing.  Every  body  greeted  us ;  if  we  asked 
for  information,  they  gave  it  cheerfully.  The  villages  were  all 
pleasant  and  clean  and  the  meadows  fresh  and  blooming.  1  felt 
half  tempted  to  say,  in  the  words  of  an  old  ballad,  which  I  be- 
lieve Longfellow  has  translated  : 

"  Tlie  fairest  kingdom  on  this  earth, 
It  is  the  Saxon  land !" 

Going  along  the  left  bank  of  the  Elbe,  we  passed  over  mea- 


SAXON   SCENERY.  135 


dows  purple  with  the  tri-colored  violet,  which  we  have  at  home  in 
gardens,  and  every  little  bank  was  bright  with  cowslips.  At 
length  the  path  led  down  into  a  cleft  or  ravine  filled  with  trees, 
whose  tops  were  on  a  level  with  the  country  around.  This  is  a 
peculiar  feature  of  Saxon  scenery.  The  country  contains  many 
of  these  clefts,  some  of  which  are  several  hundred  feet  deep,  hav- 
ing walls  of  perpendicular  rock,  in  whose  crevices  the  mountain 
pine  roots  itself  and  grows  to  a  tolerable  height  without  any  ap- 
parent soil  to  keep  it  alive.  We  descended  by  a  foot-path  into 
this  ravine,  called  the  Liebethaler  Grund.  It  is  wider  than  manv 
of  the  others,  having  room  enough  for  a  considerable  stream  and 
several  mills.  The  sides  are  of  sandstone  rock,  quite  perpen- 
dicular. As  we  proceeded,  it  grew  narrower  and  deeper,  while 
the  trees  covering  its  sides  and  edges  nearly  shut  out  the  sky. 
An  hour's  walk  brought  us  to  the  end,  where  we  ascended  grad- 
ually to  the  upper  level  again. 

After  passing  the  night  at  the  little  village  of  Uttewalde,  a 
short  distance  further,  we  set  out  early  in  the  morning  for  the 
Bastei,  a  lofty  precipice  on  the  Elbe.  The  way  led  us  directly 
through  the  Uttewalder  Grund,  the  most  remarkable  of  all  these 
chasms.  We  went  down  by  steps  into  its  depths,  which  in  the 
early  morning  were  very  cold.  Water  dripped  from  the  rocks, 
which  but  a  few  feet  apart,  rose  far  above  us,  and  a  little  rill 
made  its  way  along  the  bottom,  into  which  the  sun  has  never 
shone.  Heavy  masses  of  rock,  which  had  tumbled  down  from  the 
sides  lay  in  the  way,  and  tall  pine  trees  sprung  from  every  cleft. 
In  one  place  the  defile  is  only  four  feet  wide,  and  a  large  mass  of 
rock,  fallen  from  above,  has  lodged  near  the  bottom,  making  an 
arch  across,  under  which  the  traveller  Ras  to  creep.  After  going 
under  two  or  three  arches  of  this  kind,  the  defile  widened  and  an 
arrow  cut  upon  a  rock  directed  us  to  a  side  path,  which  branched 
ofi:'  from  this  into  a  mountain.  Here  the  stone  masses  immedi- 
ately assumed  another  form.  They  projected  out  like  shelves 
sometimes  as  much  as  twenty  feet  from  the  straight  side,  and 
hung  over  the  way,  looking  as  if  they  might  break  ofi"  every  mo- 
ment. I  felt  glad  when  we  had  passed  under  them.  Then  as 
we  ascended  higher,  we  saw  pillars  of  rock  separated  entirely 
from  the  side  and  rising  a  hundred  feet  in  height,  with  trees 


136  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


growing  on  their  summits.  They  stood  there  gray  and  time- 
worn,  like  the  ruins  of  a  Titan  temple. 

The  path  finally  led  us  out  into  the  forest  and  through  the 
clustering  pine  trees,  to  the  summit  of  the  Bastei.  An  inn  has 
been  erected  in  the  woods  and  an  iron  balustrade  placed  around 
the  rock.  Protected  by  this,  we  advanced  to  the  end  of  the  pre- 
cipice and  looked  down  to  the  swift  Elbe,  more  than  seven  hun- 
dred feet  below  !  Opposite  through  the  blue  mists  of  morning, 
rose  Konigstein,  crowned  with  an  impregnable  fortress,  and  the 
crags  of  Lilienstein,  with  a  fine  forest  around  their  base,  frowned 
from  the  left  bank.  On  both  sides  were  horrible  precipices  of 
gray  rock,  with  rugged  trees  hanging  from  the  crevices.  A  hill 
rising  up  from  one  side  of  the  Bastei,  terminates  suddenly  a  short 
distance  from  it,  in  an  abrupt  precipice.  In  the  intervening  space 
stand  three  or  four  of  those  rock-columns,  several  hundred  feet 
high,  with  their  tops  nearly  on  a  level  with  the  Bastei.  A  wooden 
bridge  has  been  made  across  from  one  to  the  other,  over  which 
the  traveller  passes,  looking  on  the  trees  and  rocks  far  below  him, 
to  the  mountain,  where  a  steep  zigzag  path  takes  him  to  the  Elbe 
below. 

We  crossed  the  Elbe  for  the  fourth  time  at  the  foot  of  the  Bastei, 
and  walked  along  its  right  bank  towards  Konigstein.  The  injury 
caused  by  the  inundation  was  everywhere  apparent.  The  reced- 
ing flood  had  left  a  deposite  of  sand,  in  many  places  several  feet 
deep  on  the  rich  meadows,  so  that  the  labor  of  years  will  be  re- 
quisite to  remove  it  and  restore  the  land  to  an  arable  condition. 
Even  the  farm-houses  on  the  hillside,  some  distance  from  the  river, 
had  been  reached,  and  the  long  grass  hung  in  the  highest  branches 
of  the  fruit  trees.  The  people  were  at  work  trying  to  repair 
their  injuries,  but  it  will  fall  heavily  upon  the  poorer  classes. 

The  mountain  of  Konigstein  is  twelve  hundred  feet  high.  A 
precipice,  varying  from  one  to  three  hundred  feet  in  height,  runs 
entirely  around  the  summit,  which  is  flat,  and  a  mile  and  a  half 
in  circumference.  This  has  been  turned  into  a  fortress,  whose 
natural  advantages  make  it  entirely  impregnable.  During  the 
Thirty  Years'  War  and  the  late  war  with  Napoleon,  it  was  the 
only  place  in  Saxony  unoccupied  by  the  enemy.  Hence  is  it 
used  as  a  depository  for  the  archives  and  royal  treasures,  in  times 


THE  FORTRESS   OF  KONIGSTEIN.  137 

of  danger.  By  giving  up  our  passports  at  the  door,  we  received 
permission  to  enter  ;  the  officer  called  a  guide  to  take  us  around 
the  battlements.  There  is  quite  a  little  village  on  the  summit, 
with  gardens,  fields,  and  a  wood  of  considerable  size.  The  only 
entrance  is  by  a  road  cut  through  the  rock,  which  is  strongly 
guarded.  A  well  seven  hundred  feet  deep  supplies  the  for- 
tress with  water,  and  there  are  storehouses  sufficient  to  hold  sup- 
plies for  many  years.  The  view  from  the  ramparts  is  glorious — 
it  takes  in  the  whole  of  the  Saxon  Highlands,  as  far  as  the  lofty 
Schneeberg  in  Bohemia.  On  the  other  side  the  eye  follows  tlie 
windings  of  the  Elbe,  as  far  as  the  spires  of  Di'esden.  Lilien- 
stein,  a  mountain  of  exactly  similar  formation,  but  somewhat 
higher,  stands  directly  opposite.  On  walking  around,  the  guide 
pointed  out  a  little  square  tower  standing  on  the  brink  of  a  pre- 
cipice, with  a  ledge,  about  two  feet  wide,  running  around  it,  just 
below  the  windows.  He  said  during  the  reign  of  Augustus  the 
Strong,  a  baron  attached  to  his  court,  rose  in  his  sleep  after  a  night 
of  revelry,  and  stepping  cut  the  window,  stretched  himself  at  full 
length  along  the  ledge.  A  guard  fortunately  observed  his  situa- 
tion and  informed  Augustas  of  it,  who  had  him  bound  and  secured 
with  cords,  and  then  awakened  by  music.  It  was  a  good  lesson, 
and  one  which  no  doubt  sobered  him  for  the  future. 

Passing  through  the  little  city  of  Konigstein,  we  walked  on  to 
Schandau,  the  capital  of  the  Saxon  Switzerland,  situated  on  the 
left  bank.  It  had  sustained  great  damage  from  the  flood,  the 
whole  place  having  been  literally  under  water.  Here  we  turned 
up  a  narrow  valley  which  led  to  the  Kuhstall,  some  eight  miles 
distant.  The  sides,  as  usual,  were  of  steep  gray  rock,  but  wide 
enough  apart  to  give  room  to  some  lovely  meadows,  with  here 
and  there  a  rustic  cottage.  The  mountain  maidens,  in  their 
bright  red  dresses,  with  a  fanciful  scarf  bound  around  the  head, 
made  a  romantic  addition  to  the  scene.  There  were  some  quiet 
secluded  nooks,  where  the  light  of  day  stole  in  dimly  through  the 
thick  foliage  above  and  the  wild  stream  rushed  less  boisterously 
over  the  rocks.  We  sat  down  to  rest  in  one  of  these  cool  retreats, 
and  made  the  glen  ring  with  a  cheer  for  America.  The  echoes 
repeated  the  name  as  if  they  had  heard  it  for  the  first  time,  and  I 


138  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


gave  them  a  strict  injunction  to  give  it  back  to  the  next  country- 
man who  should  pass  by. 

As  we  advanced  further  into  the  hills  the  way  became  darker 
and  wilder.  We  heard  the  sound  of  falling  water  in  a  little  dell 
on  one  side,  and  going  nearer,  saw  a  picturesque  fall  of  about 
fifteen  feet.  Great  masses  of  black  rock  were  piled  together, 
over  which  the  mountain-stream  fell  in  a  snowy  sheet.  The  pines 
above  and  around  grew  so  thick  and  close,  that  not  a  sunbeam 
could  enter,  and  a  kind  of  mysterious  twilight  pervaded  the  spot. 
In  Greece  it  would  have  been  chosen  for  an  oracle.  I  have  seen, 
somewhere,  a  picture  of  the  Spirit  of  Poetry,  sitting  beside  just 
such  a  cataract,  and  truly  the  nymph  could  choose  no  more  ap- 
propriate dwelling.  But  alas  for  sentiment !  while  we  were  ad 
miring  its  picturesque  beauty,  we  did  not  notice  a  man  who  came 
from  a  hut  near  by  and  went  up  behind  the  rocks.  All  at  once 
there  was  a  roar  of  water,  and  a  real  torrent  came  pouring  down. 
I  looked  up,  and  lo !  there  he  stood,  with  a  gate  in  his  hand 
which  had  held  the  water  imprisoned,  looking  down  at  us  to  ob- 
serve the  effect.  I  motioned  him  to  shut  it  up  again,  and  he  ran 
down  to  us,  lest  he  should  lose  his  fee  for  the  "  sight !" 

Our  road  now  left  the  valley  and  ascended  through  a  forest  to 
the  Kuhstall,  which  we  came  upon  at  once.  It  is  a  remarkable 
natural  arch,  through  a  rocky  wall  or  rampart,  one  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  thick.  Going  through,  we  came  at  the  other  end  to  the 
edge  of  a  very  deep  precipice,  while  the  rock  towered  precipi- 
tously far  above.  Below  lay  a  deep  circular  valley,  two  miles  in 
diameter,  and  surrounded  on  every  side  by  ranges  of  crags,  such 
as  We  saw  on  the  Bastei.  It  was  entirely  covered  with  a  pine 
forest,  and  there  only  appeared  to  be  two  or  three  narrow  defiles 
which  gave  it  a  communication  with  the  world.  The  top  of  the 
Kuhstall  can  be  reached  by  a  path  which  runs  up  through  a  split 
in  the  rock,  directly  to  the  summit.  It  is  just  wide  enough  for 
one  person  to  squeeze  himself  through  ;  pieces  of  wood  have 
been  fastened  in  as  steps,  and  the  rocks  in  many  places  close 
completely  above.  The  place  derives  its  name  from  having  been 
used  by  the  mountaineers  as  a  hiding-place  for  their  cattle  in  time 
of  war. 

Next  morning  we  descended  by  another  crevice  in  the  rock  to 


THE  HIGHLANDS   OF  SAXONY.  139 


the  lonely  valley,  which  we  crossed,  and  climbed  the  Little  Win- 
terberg  on  the  opposite  side.  There  is  a  wide  and  rugged  view 
from  a  little  tower  on  a  precipitous  rock  near  the  summit,  erected 
to  commemorate  the  escape  of  Prince  Augustus  of  Saxony,  who, 
being  pursued  by  a  mad  stag,  rescued  himself  on  the  very  brink, 
by  a  lucky  blow.  Among  the  many  wild  valleys  that  lay  be- 
tween the  hills,  we  saw  scarcely  one  without  the  peculiar  rocky 
formation  which  gives  to  Saxon  scenery  its  most  interesting 
character.  They  resemble  the  remains  of  some  mighty  work  of 
art,  rather  than  one  of  the  thousand  varied  forms  in  which  Nature 
deli";hls  to  clothe  herself. 

The  Great  Winterberg,  which  is  reached  by  another  hour's 
walk  along  an  elevated  ridge,  is  the  highest  of  the  mountains,  cel- 
ebrated for  the  grand  view  from  its  summit.  We  found  the  hand- 
some Swiss  hotel  recently  built  there,  full  of  tourists  who  had 
come  to  enjoy  the  scene,  but  the  morning  clouds  hid  every  thing. 
We  ascended  the  tower,  and  looking  between  them  as  they  rolled 
by,  caught  glimpses  of  the  broad  landscape  below.  The  Giant's 
Mountains  in  Silesia  were  hidden  by  the  mist,  but  sometimes 
when  the  wind  freshened,  we  could  see  beyond  the  Elbe  into  Bo- 
hemian Switzerland,  where  the  long  Schneeberg  rose  conspicu- 
ous above  the  smaller  mountains.  Leavins:  the  other  travellers 
to  wait  at  their  leisure  for  clearer  weather,  we  set  off  for  the 
Prebischthor,  in  company  with  two  or  three  students  from  the 
Polytechnic  School  in  Dresden.  An  hour's  walk  overhigh  hills, 
whose  forest  clothing  had  been  swept  off  by  fire  a  few  years  be- 
fore, brought  us  to  it. 

The  Prebischthor  is  a  natural  arch,  ninetv  feet  high,  in  a  wall 
of  rock  which  projects  at  right  angles  from  the  precipitous  side 
of  the  mountain.  A  narrow  path  leads  over  the  top  of  the  arch 
to  the  end  of  the  rock,  where,  protected  by  a  railing,  the  traveller 
seems  to  hang  in  the  air.  The  valley  is  far  below  him — moun- 
tains rise  up  on  either  side — and  only  the  narrow  bridge  connects 
him  with  the  earth.  We  descended  by  a  wooden  staircase  to  the 
bottom  of  the  arch,  near  which  a  rustic  inn  is  built  against  the 
rock,  and  thence  into  the  valley  below,  which  we  followed 
through  rude  and  lonely  scenery,  to  Hirnischkretschen  (!)  on  the 
Elbe. 


140  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Crossing  the  river  again  for  the  sixth  and  last  time,  we  fol- 
lowed the  right  bank  to  Neidergrund,  the  first  Austrian  village. 
Here  our  passports  were  vised  for  Prague,  and  we  were  allowed 
to  proceed  without  any  examination  of  baggage.  I  noticed  a 
manifest  change  in  our  fellow  travelers  the  moment  we  crossed 
the  border.  They  appeared  anxious  and  careful ;  if  we  hap- 
pened to  speak  of  the  state  of  the  country,  they  always  looked 
around  to  see  if  anybody  was  near,  and  if  we  even  passed  a 
workman  on  the  road,  quickly  changed  to  some  other  subject. 
They  spoke  much  of  the  jealous  strictness  of  the  government, 
and  from  what  I  heard  from  Austrians  themselves,  there  may 
have  been  ground  for  their  cautiousness. 

We  walked  seven  or  eio-ht  miles  along;  the  bank  of  the  Elbe, 
to  Tetschen,  there  left  our  companions  and  took  the  road  to  Tep- 
litz.  The  scenery  was  very  picturesque  ;  it  must  be  delightful 
to  float  down  the  swift  current  in  a  boat,  as  we  saw  several  merry 
companies  do.  The  river  is  just  small  enough  and  the  banks 
near  enough  together,  to  render  such  a  mode  of  travelling  de- 
lightful, and  the  strength  of  the  current  would  carry  one  to 
Dresden  in  a  day. 

I  was  pleasantly  disappointed  on  entering  Bohemia.  Instead 
of  a  dull,  uninteresting  country,  as  I  expected,  it  is  a  land  full 
of  the  most  lovely  scenery.  There  is  every  thing  which  can 
gratify  the  eye — high  blue  mountains,  valleys  of  the  sweetest 
pastoral  look  and  romantic  old  ruins.  The  very  name  of  Bohe- 
mia is  associated  with  wild  and  wonderful  legends,  of  the  rude 
barbaric  ages.  Even  the  chivalric  tales  of  the  feudal  times  of 
Germany  grow  tame  beside  these  earlier  and  darker  histories. 
The  fallen  fortresses  of  the  Rhine,  or  the  robber-castles  of  the 
Odenwald  had  not  for  me  so  exciting  an  interest  as  the  shape- 
less ruins  cumbering  these  lonely  mountains.  The  civilized 
Saxon  race  was  left  behind  ;  I  saw  around  me  the  features  and 
heard  the  language  of  one  of  those  rude  Sclavonic  tribes,  whose 
original  home  was  on  the  vast  steppes  of  Central  Asia.  I  have 
rarely  enjoyed  traveling  more  than  our  first  two  days'  journey 
towards  Prague.  The  range  of  the  Erzgebirfre  ran  alono;  on  our 
right ;  the  snow  still  lay  in  patches  upon  it,  but  the  valleys  be- 
tween, with  their  little  clusters  of  white  cottages,  were  green  and 


KULM  AND   TEPLITZ.  14L 

beautiful.  About  six  miles  before  reaching  Teplitz,  we  passed 
Kulm,  the  great  battle-field,  which  in  a  measure  decided  the  fate 
of  Napoleon.  He  sent  Vandamme  with  40,000  men  to  attack 
the  allies  before  they  could  unite  tlieir  forces,  and  thus  effect 
their  complete  destruction.  Only  the  almost  despairing  bravery 
of  the  Russian  guards  under  Ostermann,  who  held  him  in  check 
till  the  allied  troops  united,  prevented  Napoleon's  design.  At 
the  junction  of  the  roads,  where  the  fighting  was  hottest,  the 
Austrians  have  erected  a  monument  to  one  of  their  generals. 
Not  far  from  it  is  that  of  Prussia,  simple  and  tasteful.  A  woody 
hill  near,  with  the  little  village  of  Kulm  at  its  foot,  was  the  sta- 
tion occupied  by  Vandamme  at  the  commencement  of  the  battle. 
There  is  now  a  beautiful  chapel  on  its  summit,  which  can  be 
seen  far  and  wide.  A  little  distance  further,  the  Emperor  of 
Russia  has  erected  a  third  monument  to  the  memory  of  the  Rus- 
sians who  fell.  Four  lions  rest  on  the  base  of  the  pedestal,  and 
on  the  top  of  the  shaft,  forty-five  feet  high.  Victory  is  represented 
as  engraving  the  date,  "Aug.  30,  1813,"  on  a  shield.  The 
dark,  pine-covered  mountains  on  the  right,  overlook  the  whole 
field  and  the  valley  of  Teplitz  ;  Napoleon  rode  along  their  crests 
several  days  after  the  battle,  to  witness  the  scene  of  his  defeat. 

Teplitz  lies  in  a  lovely  valley,  several  miles  wide,  bounded  by 
the  Bohemian  mountains  on  one  side,  and  the  Erzo;ebirge  on  the 
other.  One  straggling  peak  near  is  crowned  with  a  picturesque 
ruin,  at  whose  foot  the  spacious  bath-buildings  lie  half  hidden  in 
foliage.  As  we  went  down  the  principal  street,  I  noticed  nearly 
every  house  was  a  hotel ;  we  learned  afterwards  that  in  summer 
the  usual  average  of  visitors  is  five  thousancf;  The  waters  re- 
semble those  of  the  celebrated  Carlsbad  ;  they  are  warm  ana 
particularly  efficacious  in  rheumatism  and  diseases  of  like  char- 
acter. After  leaving  Teplitz,  the  road  turned  to  the  east,  to- 
wards a  lofty  mountain,  which  we  had  seen  the  morning  before. 
The  peasants  as  they  passed  by,  saluted  us  with  "  Christ  greet 
you !" 

We  stopped  for  the  night  at  the  foot  of  the  peak  called  the 
Milleschauer,  and  must  have  ascended  nearly  2,000  feet,  for  we 
had  a  wide  view  the  next  morning,  although  the  mists  and  clouds 
hid  the  half  of  it.     The  weather  being  so  unfavorable,  we  con- 


142  VIEWS  A-FOOT, 


eluded  not  to  ascend,  and  taking  leave  of  the  Jena  student  who 
came  there  for  that  purpose,  descended  through  green  fields 
and  orchards  snowy  with  blossoms,  to  Lobositz,  on  the  Elbe. 
Here  we  reached  the  plains  again,  where  every  thing  wore  the 
luxuriance  of  summer;  it  was  a  pleasant  change  from  the  dark 
and  rough  scenery  we  left.  The  road  passed  through  Theresien- 
stadt,  the  fortress  of  Northern  Bohemia.  The  little  city  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  double  wall  and  moat,  which  can  be  filled  with 
water,  rendering  it  almost  impossible  to  be  taken.  In  the  morn- 
ing we  were  ferried  over  the  Moldau,  and  after  journeying  nearly 
all  day  across  barren,  elevated  plains,  saw  late  in  the  afternoon 
the  sixty-seven  spires  of  Prague  below  us  !  The  dark  clouds 
which  hung  over  the  hills,  gave  us  little  time  to  look  upon  the 
singular  scene ;  and  we  were  soon  comfortably  settled  in  the 
half-barbaric,  half-Asiatic  city,  with  a  pleasant  prospect  of  seeing 
its  wonders  on  the  morrow. 


PRAGUE.  143 


CHAPTER    XX 


SCENES    IN    PRAGUE. 


Prague. — I  fe'^]  as  if  out  of  the  world,  in  this  strange,  fantas- 
tic, yet  beautiful  old  city.     We  have  been   rambling  all   morn- 
ing through  its  winding  streets,  stopping  sometimes  at  a  church 
to  see  the   dusty  tombs   and   shrines,  or  to   hear  the  fine  music 
which  accompanies  the  morning  mass.     I  have   seen  no  city  yet 
that  so  forcibly  reminds   one  of  the   past,  and   makes  him  forget 
everything  but  the  associations  connected  with  the  scenes  around 
him.     The   language  adds  to  the   illusion.     Three-fourths  of  the 
people  in  the  streets  speak  Bohemian  and  many  of  the  signs  are 
written   in  the  same  tongue,  which   is  not  at   all   like   German. 
The  palace  of  the  Bohemian  kings  still   looks  down  on  the  city 
from  the  western  heights,  and  their  tombs  stand  in  the  Cathedral 
of  the  holy  Johannes.      When  one  has  climbed  up  the  stone  steps 
leading  to  the   fortress,  there  is  a  glorious  prospect  before  him. 
Prague,  with  its  spires    and    towers,   lies  in   the   valley   below, 
through  which  curves  the   Moldau  with  its   green  islands,  disap- 
pearing among   the   hills  which  enclose   the  city  on   every  side. 
The   fantastic   Byzantine   architecture  of  many  of  the  churches 
and  towers,   gives  the   city  a   peculiar   oriental   appearance  ;    it 
seems  to   have   been  transported  from   the   hills   of  Syria.     Its 
streets  are  full  of  palaces,  fallen  and  dwelt  in  now  by  the  poorer 
classes.     Its  famous  University,  which  once   boasted  forty  thou- 
sand students,  has   long  since  ceased  to   exist.     In  a  word,  it  is, 
like  Venice,  a  fallen  city  ;  though  as  in  Venice,  the  improving 
spirit  of  the  age  is  beginning  to  give  it  a  little  life,  and  to  send  a 
quicker  stream   through  its  narrow  and  winding  arteries.     The 
railroad,  which,  joining  that  to  Brunn,  shall  bring  it  in  connection 
with  Vienna,  will   be  finished  this  year ;  in   anticipation  of  the 
increased  business  which  will   arise   from  this,  speculators  are 


144  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


building  enormous  hotels  in  the  suburbs  and  tearing  down  the 
old  buildings  to  give  place  to  more  splendid  edifices.  These 
operations,  and  the  chain  bridge  which  spans  the  Moldau  towards 
the  southern  end  of  the  city,  are  the  only  things  which  look  mod- 
ern— every  thing  else  is  old,  strange  and  solemn. 

Having  found  out  first  a  few  of  the  locations,  we  hunted  our 
way  -with  difficulty  through  its  labyrinths,  seeking  out  every 
place  of  note  or  interest.  Reaching  the  bridge  at  last,  we  con- 
eluded  to  cross  over  and  ascend  to  the  Hradschin — the  palace  ot 
the  Bohemian  kings.  The  bridge  was  commenced  in  1357,  and 
was  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  in  building.  That  was  the  way 
the  old  Germans  did  their  work,  and  they  made  a  structure  which 
will  last  a  thousand  years  longer.  Every  pier  is  surmounted 
with  groups  of  saints  and  martyrs,  all  so  worn  and  time-beaten, 
that  there  is  little  left  of  their  beau'y,  if  they  ever  had  any. 
The  most  important  of  them,  at  least  to  Bohemians,  is  that  of  the 
holy  "  Johannes  of  Nepomuck,"  now  considered  as  the  patron- 
saint  of  the  land.  He  was  a  priest  many  centuries  ago,  whom 
one  of  the  kings  threw  from  the  bridge  into  the  Moldau,  because 
he  refused  to  reveal  to  him  what  the  queen  confessed.  The 
legend  says  the  body  swam  for  some  lime  on  the  river,  with  five 
stars  around  its  head.  The  16th  of  May,  the  day  before  we  ar- 
rived, was  that  set  apart  for  his  particular  honor ;  the  statue  on 
the  bridge  was  covered  with  an  arch  of  green  boughs  and  flow- 
ers, and  the  shrine  lighted  with  burnmg  tapers.  A  railing  was 
erected  around  it,  near  which  numbers  of  the  believers  weie 
kneeling,  and  a  priest  stood  in  the  inside.  The  bridge  was  cov- 
ered with  passers-by,  who  all  took  their  hats  off'  till  they  had 
passed.  Had  it  been  a  place  of  public  worship,  the  act  would 
have  been  natural  and  appropriate,  but  to  uncover  before  a  statue 
seemed  to  us  too  much  like  idolatry,  and  we  ventured  over  with- 
out doing  it.  A  few  years  ago  it  might  have  been  dangerous, 
but  now  we  only  met  with  scowling  looks.  There  are  many 
such  shrines  and  statues  through  the  city,  and  I  noticed  that  the 
people  always  took  off*  their  hats  and  crossed  themselves  in  pass- 
iiig.  On  the  hill  above  the  western  end  of  the  city,  stands  a 
chapel  on  the  spot  where  the  Bavarians  put  an  end  to  Protestant- 
ism in  Bohemia  hy  the  sivord,  and  the  deluded  peasantry  of  the 


A   DAY-DREAM  IN  PRAGUE.  145 

land  make  pilgrimages  to  this  spot,  as  if  it  were  rendered  holy  by 
an  act  over  which  fleligion  weeps  ! 

Ascending  the  broad  flight  of  steps  to  the  Hradschin,  I  paused 
a  moment  to  look  at  the  scene  below.  A  slight  blue  haze  hung 
over  the  clustering  towers,  and  the  city  looked  dim  through  it, 
like  a  city  seen  in  a  dream.  It  was  well  that  it  should  so  appear, 
for  not  less  dim  and  misty  are  the  memories  that  haunt  its  walls. 
There  was  no  need  of  a  magician's  wand  to  bid  that  light  cloud 
shadow  forth  the  forms  of  other  times.  They  came  uncalled  for, 
even  by  fancy.  Far,  far  back  in  the  past,  I  saw  the  warrior- 
princess  who  founded  the  kingly  city — the  renowned  Libussa, 
whose  prowess  and  talent  inspired  the  women  of  Bohemia  to  rise 
at  her  death  and  storm  the  land  that  their  sex  might  rule  where 
it  obeyed  before.  On  the  mountain  opposite  once  stood  the  palace 
of  the  bloody  Wlaska,  who  reigned  with  her  Amazon  band  for 
seven  years  over  half  Bohemia.  Those  streets  below  had  echoed 
with  the  fiery  words  of  Huss,  and  the  castle  of  his  follower — the 
blind  Ziska,  who  met  and  defeated  the  armies  of  the  German  Em- 
pire— moulders  on  the  mountain  above.  Many  a  year  of  war  and 
tempest  has  passed  over  the  scene.  The  hills  around  have  borne 
the  armies  of  Wallenstein  and  Frederic  the  Great ;  the  war-cry  of 
Bavaria,  Sweden  and  Poland  has  echoed  in  the  valley,  and  the 
red  glare  of  the  midnight  cannon  or  the  flames  of  burning  pal- 
aces have  often  gleamed  along  the  "  blood-dyed  waters"  of  the 
Moldau  ! 

But  this  was  a  day-dream.  The  throng  of  people  coming  up 
the  steps  waked  me  out  of  it.  We  turned  and  followed  them 
through  several  spacious  courts,  till  we  arrived  at  the  Cathedral, 
which  is  magnificent  in  the  extreme.  The  dark  Gothic  pillars, 
whose  arches  unite  high  above,  are  surrounded  with  gilded  mon- 
uments and  shrines,  and  the  side  chapels  are  rich  in  elaborate 
decorations.  A  priest  was  speaking  from  a  pulpit  in  the  centre, 
in  the  Bohemian  language,  which  not  being  the  most  intelligible, 
I  went  to  the  other  end  to  see  the  shrine  of  the  holy  Johannes  of 
Nepomuck.  It  stands  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  side  aisles  and  is 
composed  of  a  mass  of  gorgeous  silver  ornaments.  At  a  little 
distance,  on  each  side,  hang  four  massive  lamps  of  silver,  con- 


146  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


stantly  burning.  The  pyramid  of  statues,  of  the  same  precious 
metal,  has  at  each  corner  a  richly  carved  urn,  three  feet  high, 
with  a  crimson  lamp  burning  at  the  top.  Above,  four  silver 
angels,  the  size  of  life,  are  suspendec^.  in  the  air,  holding  up  the 
corners  of  a  splendid  drapery  of  crimson  and  gold.  If  these 
figures  were  melted  down  and  distributed  among  the  poor  and 
miserable  people  who  inhabit  Bohemia,  they  would  then  be  angels 
indeed,  bringing  happiness  and  blessing  to  many  a  ruined  home- 
altar.  In  the  same  chapel  is  the  splendid  burial-place  of  the  Bo- 
hemian kings,  of  gilded  marble  and  alabaster.  Numberles? 
tombs,  covered  with  elaborate  ornamental  work,  fill  the  edifice. 
It  gives  one  a  singular  feeling  to  stand  at  one  end  and  look  down 
the  lofty  hall,  dim  with  incense  smoke  and  dark  with  the  weight 
of  many  centuries. 

On  the  way  down  again,  we  stepped  into  the  St.  Nicholas 
Church,  which  was  built  by  the  Jesuits.  The  interior  has  a  rich 
effect,  being  all  of  brown  and  gold.  The  massive  pillars  are 
made  to  resemble  reddish-brown  marble,  with  gilded  capitals,  and 
the  statues  at  the  base  are  profusely  ornamented  in  the  same  style. 
The  music  chained  me  there  a  long  time.  There  was  a  grand 
organ,  assisted  by  a  full  orchestra  and  large  choir  of  singers. 
It  was  placed  above,  and  at  every  sound  of  the  priest's  bell,  the 
flourish  of  trumpets  and  deep  roll  of  the  drums  filled  the  dome 
with  a  burst  of  quivering  sound,  while  the  giant  pipes  of  the  or- 
gan breathed  out  their  full  harmony  and  the  very  air  shook  under 
the  peal.  It  was  like  a  triumphal  strain  ;  the  soul  became  filled 
with  thoughts  of  power  and  glory — every  sense  was  changed  in- 
to one  dim,  indistinct  emotion  of  rapture,  which  held  the  spirit  as 
if  spell-bound.  I  could  almost  forgive  the  Jesuits  the  supersti- 
tion and  bigotry  they  have  planted  in  the  minds  of  men,  for  the 
indescribable  enjoyment  that  music  gave.  When  it  ceased,  we 
went  out  to  the  world  again,  and  the  recollection  of  it  seems  now 
like  a  dream — but  a  dream  whose  influence  will  last  longer  than 
many  a  more  palpable  reality. 

Not  far  from  this  place  is  the  palace  of  Wallenstein,  in  the 
same  condition  as  when  he  inhabited  it,  and  still  in  the  possession 
of  his  descendants.     It  is  a  plaiii^  large  building,  having  beautiful 


THE  JEWS'  aUARTER.  147 

gardens  attached  to  it,  which  are  open  to  the  public.  We  went 
through  the  courtyard,  threaded  a  passage  with  a  roof  of  rough 
stalactitic  rock,  and  entered  the  garden  where  a  revolving  foun- 
tain was  casting  up  its  glittering  arches.  Among  the  flowers  at 
the  other  end  of  the  garden  there  is  a  remarkable  fountain.  It  is 
but  a  single  jet  of  water  which  rises  from  the  middle  of  a  broad 
basin  of  woven  wire,  but  by  some  means  it  sustains  a  hollow  gild- 
ed ball,  sometimes  for  many  minutes  at  a  time.  When  the  ball 
drops,  the  sloping  sides  of  the  basin  convey  it  directly  to  the  foun- 
tain again,  and  it  is  carried  up  to  dance  a  while  longer  on  the  top 
of  the  jet.  I  watched  it  once,  thus  supported  on  the  water,  for 
full  fifteen  minutes. 

There  is  another  part  of  Prague  which  is  not  less  interesting, 
though  much  less  poetical — the  Jews'  City.  In  our  rambles  we 
got  into  it  before  we  were  aware,  but  hurried  immediately  out  of 
it  again,  perfectly  satisfied  with  one  visit.  We  came  first  into  a 
dark,  narrow  street,  whose  sides  were  lined  with  booths  of  old 
clothes  and  second-hand  articles.  A  sharp  featured  old  woman 
thrust  a  coat  before  my  face,  exclaiming,  "  Herr,  buy  a  fine 
coat !"  Instantly  a  man  assailed  me  on  the  other  side,  "-Here 
are  vests !  pantaloons  !  shirts  !"  I  broke  loose  from  them  and 
ran  on,  but  it  only  became  worse.  One  seized  me  by  the  arm, 
crying,  "  Lieber  Herr,  buy  some  stockings  !'"'  and  another  grasped 
my  coat :  "  Hats,  Herr  !  hats  !  buy  something,  or  sell  me  some- 
thing f'^  I  rushed  desperately  on,  shouting  "no!  no!"  with  all 
my  might,  and  finally  got  safe  through.  My  friend  having  escaped 
their  clutches  also,  we  hunted  the  way  to  the  old  Jewish  ceme- 
tery. This  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  city,  and  has  not  been 
•  used  for  a  hundred  years.  We  could  find  no  entrance,  but  by 
climbing  upon  the  ruins  of  an  old  house  near,  I  could  look  over 
the  wall.  A  cold  shudder  crept  over  me,  to  think  that  -warm, 
joyous  Life,  as  I  then  felt  it,  should  grow  chill  and  pass  back  to 
clay  in  such  a  foul  charnel-house.  Large  mounds  of  earth,  cov- 
ered with  black,  decaying  grave-stones,  which  were  almost  hid- 
den under  the  weeds  and  rank  grass,  filled  the  inclosure.  A  few 
dark,  crooked  alder-trees  grew  among  the  crumbling  tombs,  and 
gave  the  scene  an  air  of  gloom   and  desolation,  almost  fearful. 


148  VIEWS  A-FOOT 


The  dust  of  many  a  generation  lies  under  these  mouldering 
stones  ;  they  now  scarcely  occupy  a  thought  in  the  minds  of  the 
living ;  and  yet  the  present  race  toils  and  seeks  for  wealth  alone, 
that  it  may  pass  away  and  leave  nothing  behind — not  even  a 
memory  for  that  which  will  follow  it ! 


BOHEMIA.  149 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

JOURNEY    THROUGH    EASTERN    BOHEMIA    AND    MORAVIA    TO    THE 

DANUBE. 

Our  road  the  first  two  days  after  leaving  Prague  led  across 
broad,  elevated  plains,  across  which  a  cold  wind  came  direct 
from  the  summits  of  the  Riesengebirge,  far  to  our  left.  Were  it 
not  for  the  pleasant  view  we  had  of  the  rich  valley  of  the  Upper 
Elbe,  which  afforded  a  delightful  relief  to  the  monotony  of  the 
hills  around  us,  the  journey  would  have  been  exceedingly  tire- 
some. The  snow  still  glistened  on  the  distant  mountains;  but 
when  the  sun  shone  out,  the  broad  valley  below,  clad  in  the  lux- 
uriance of  summer,  and  extending  for  at  least  fifty  miles  with  its 
woods,  meadows  and  white  villages,  looked  like  a  real  Paradise. 
The  long  ridges  over  which  we  travelled  extend  for  nearly  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  miles — from  the  Elbe  almost  to  the  Danube.  The 
soil  is  not  fertile,  the  inhabitants  are  exceedingly  poor,  and  from 
our  own  experience,  the  climate  must  be  unhealthy.  In  winter 
the  country  is  exposed  to  the  full  sweep  of  the  northern  winds, 
and  in  summer  the  sun  shines  down  on  it  with  unbroken  force. 
There  are  few  streams  running  through  it,  and  the  highest  part, 
which  divides  the  waters  of  the  Baltic  from  those  of  the  Black 
Sea,  is  filled  for  a  long  distance  with  marshes  and  standing  pools, 
whose  exhalations  must  inevitably  subject  the  inhabitants  to  dis- 
ease. This  was  perceptible  in  their  sallow,  sickly  countenances; 
many  of  the  women  are  afflicted  with  the  goitre,  or  swelling  of 
the  throat ;  I  noticed  that  towards  evening  they  always  carefully 
muffled  up  their  faces.  According  to  their  own  statements,  the 
people  suffer  much  from  the  cold  in  winter,  as  the  few  forests  the 
country  affords  are  in  possession  of  the  noblemen  to  whom  the 
land  belongs,  and  they  are  not  willing  to  let  them  be  cut  down. 
The  dominions  of  these  petty  despots  are  marked  along  the  road 


160  VIEWS  A-FOOT- 


with  as  much  precision  as  the  boundaries  of  an  empire  ;   we  saw 
sometimes  their  stately  castles  at  a  distance,  forming  quite  a  con 
trast  to  the  poor  scattering  villages  of  the  peasants. 

At  KoUin,  the  road,  which  had  been  running  eastward  in  the 
direction  of  Olmutz,  turned  to  the  south,  and  we  took  leave  of  the 
Elbe,  after  tracing  back  his  course  from  Magdeburg  nearly  to 
his  home  in  the  mountains  of  Silesia.  The  country  was  barren 
and  monotonous,  but  a  bright  sunshine  made  it  look  somewhat 
cheerful.  We  passed,  every  few  paces,  some  shrine  or  statue 
by  the  roadside.  This  had  struck  me,  immediately  on  crossing 
the  border,  in  the  Saxon  Switzerland — it  seemed  as  if  the  bound- 
ary of  Saxony  was  that  of  Protestantism.  But  here  in  the  heart  of 
Bohemia,  the  extent  to  which  this  image  worship  is  carried,  ex- 
ceeds anything  I  had  imagined.  There  is  something  pleasing  as 
well  as  poetical  in  the  idea  of  a  shrine  by  the  wayside,  where 
the  weary  traveller  can  rest,  and  raise  his  heart  in  thankfulness 
to  the  Power  that  protects  him  ;  it  was  no  doubt  a  pious  spirit 
that  placed  them  there ;  but  the  people  appear  to  pay  the  rever- 
ence to  the  picture  which  they  should  give  to  its  spiritual  image, 
and  the  pictures  themselves  are  so  shocking  and  ghastly,  they 
seem  better  calculated  to  excite  horror  than  reverence.  It  was 
really  repulsive  to  look  on  images  of  the  Saviour  covered  with 
blood,  and  generally  with  swords  sticking  in  different  parts  of 
the  body.  The  Almighty  is  represented  as  an  old  man,  wear- 
ing a  Bishop's  mitre,  and  the  image  of  the  Virgin  is  always 
drest  in  a  gay  silk  robe,  with  beads  and  other  ornaments.  From 
he  miserable  painting,  the  faces  often  had  an  expression  that 
would  have  been  exceedingly  ludicrous,  if  the  shock  given  to  our 
feelings  of  reverence  were  not  predominant.  The  poor,  degraded 
peasants  always  uncovered  or  crossed  themselves  when  passing 
by  these  shrines,  but  it  appeared  to  be  rather  the  effect  of  habit 
than  any  good  impulse,  for  the  Bohemians  are  noted  all  over  Ger- 
many for  their  dishonesty ;  we  learned  by  experience  they  de- 
serve it.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  either ;  for  a  people  so  poor 
and  miserable  and  oppressed  will  soon  learn  to  take  advantage  of 
all  who  appear  better  off  than  themselves.  They  had  one  custom 
which  was  touching;  and  beautiful.  At  the  sound  of  the  church 
bell,  as  it  rung  the  morning,  noon  and  evening  chimes,  every  one 


BOHEMIAN  PEASANTS.  151 


uncovered,  and  repeated  to  himself  a  prayer.  Often,  as  we  rested 
at  noon  on  a  bank  by  the  roadside,  that  voice  spoke  out  from  the 
house  of  worship  and  every  one  heeded  its  tone.  '  Would  that  to 
this  innate  spirit  of  reverence  were  added  the  light  of  Knowledge, 
which  a  tyrannical  government  denies  them ! 

The  third  night  of  our  journey  we  stopped  at  the  little  village 
of  Stecken,  and  the  next  morning,  after  three  houvs'  walk  over 
the  ridgy  heights,  reached  the  old  Moravian  citv  of  Iglau,  built 
on  a  hill.  It  happened  to  be  Corpus  Christi  daj',  and  the  peas- 
ants of  the  neigliborhood  were  hastening  there  in  their  gayest 
dresses.  The  young  women  wore  a  crimson  scarf  around  the 
head,  with  long  fringed  and  embroidered  ends  hanging  over  the 
shoulders,  or  falling  in  one  smooth  fold  from  the  back  of  the  head 
They  were  attired  in  black  velvet  vests,  with  full  white  sleeves 
and  skirts  of  some  gay  color,  which  were  short  enough  to  show 
to  advantage  their  red  stockings  and  polished  shoe-buckles.  Many 
of  them  were  not  deficient  in  personal  beauty — there  was  a  gipsy- 
like wildness  in  their  eyes,  that  combined  with  their  rich  hair 
and  graceful  costume,  reminded  me  of  the  Italian  maidens.  The 
towns  too,  with  their  open  squares  and  arched  passages,  have 
quite  a  southern  look  ;  but  the  damp,  gloomy  weather  was 
enough  to  dispel  any  illusion  of  this  kind. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Iglau,  and,  in  fact,  through  the  whole 
of  Bohemia,  we  saw  some  of  the  strangest  teams  that  could  well 
be  imagined.  I  thought  the  Frankfort  milkwomen  with  their 
donkeys  and  hearse-like  carts,  were  comical  objects  enough,  but 
thoy  bear  no  comparison  with  these  Bohemian  turn-outs.  Dogs 
—  for  economy's  sake,  perhaps — generally  supply  the  place  of 
oxen  or  horses,  and  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  see  three  large 
mastiffs  abreast,  harnessed  to  a  country-cart.  A  donkey  and  a 
cow  together,  are  sometimes  met  with,  and  one  man,  going  to  the 
festival  at  Iglau,  had  his  wife  and  children  in  a  little  wagon, 
drawn  bv  a  door  and  a  donkev.  These  two,  however,  did  not  work 
well  together ;  the  dog  would  bite  his  lazy  companion,  and  the 
man's  time  was  constantly  employed  in  whipping  him  off  the 
donkey,  and  in  whipping  the  donkey  away  from  the  side  of  the 
road.  Once  I  saw  a  wagon  drawn  by  a  dog,  with  a  woman 
pushing  behind,  while  a  man,  doubtless  her  lord  and  master,  sat 


152  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


comfortably  within,  smoking  his  pipe  with  the  greatest  compla- 
cency !  The  very  climax  of  all  was  a  woman  and  a  dog  har- 
nessed together,  taking  a  load  of  country  produce  to  market !  I 
hope,  for  the  honor  of  the  country,  it  was  not  emblematic  of  wo- 
man's condition  there.  But  as  we  saw  hundreds  of  them  break- 
ing stone  along  the  road,  and  occupied  at  other  laborious  and  not 
less  menial  labor,  there  is  too  much  reason  to  fear  that  it  is  so. 

As  we  approached  Iglau,  we  heard  cannon  firing  ;  the  crowd 
increased,  and  following  the  road,  we  came  to  an  open  square, 
where  a  large  number  were  already  assembled  ;  shrines  were 
erected  around  it,  hung  with  pictures  and  pme  boughs,  and  a 
long  procession  of  children  was  passing  down  the  side  as  we 
entered.  We  went  towards  the  middle,  where  Neptune  and  his 
Tritons  poured  the  water  from  their  urns  into  two  fountains, 
and  stopped  to  observe  the  scene.  The  procession  came  on, 
headed  bj-  a  large  body  of  priests,  in  white  robes,  with  banners 
and  crosses.  They  stopped  before  the  principal  shrine,  in  front 
of  the  Rathhaus,  and  began  a  solemn  religious  ceremony.  The 
whole  crowd  of  not  less  than  ten  thousand  persons,  stood  silent 
and  uncovered,  and  the  deep  voice  of  the  officiating  priest  was 
heard  over  the  whole  square.  At  times  the  multitude  sang  re- 
sponses, and  I  could  mark  the  sound,  swelling  and  rolling  up  like 
a  mighty  wave,  till  it  broke  and  slowly  sank  down  again  to  the 
deepest  stillness.  The  effect  was  marred  by  the  rough  voice  of 
the  officers  commanding  the  soldiery,  and  the  volleys  of  mus- 
quetry  which  were  occasionally  discharged.  It  degraded  the  so- 
lemnity of  the  pageant  to  the  level  of  a  military  parade. 

In  the  afternoon  we  were  overtaken  by  a  travelling  handwer- 
ker,  on  his  way  to  Vienna,  who  joined  company  with  us.  We 
walked  several  miles  together,  talking  on  various  matters,  with- 
out his  having  the  least  suspicion  we  were  not  Germans.  He 
had  been  at  Trieste,  and  at  length  began  speaking  of  the  great 
beauty  of  the  American  vessels  there.  "  Yes,"  said  I,  "  our 
vessels  are  admired  all  over  the  world."  He  stared  at  me  with- 
out comprehending  ; — "  your  vessels  ?"  "  Our  country's,"  I  re- 
plied ;  "  we  are  Americans  !"  I  can  see  still  his  look  of  incred- 
ulous astonishment  and  hear  the  amazed  tone  with  which  he 
cried  :  "  You  Americans — ii  is  impossible  I"    We  convinced  him 


A  WANDERING  JOURNEYMAN.  153 

nevertheless,  to  his  great  joy,  for  all  through  Germany  there  is  a 
curiosity  to  see  our  countrymen  and  a  kindly  feeling  towards 
them.  "  I  shall  write  down  in  my  book,"  said  he,  "  so  that  I 
shall  never  forget  it,  that  I  once  travelled  with  two  Americans !" 
We  stopped  together  for  the  night  at  the  only  inn  in  a  large, 
beggarly  village,  where  we  obtained  a  frugal  supper  with  diffi- 
culty, for  a  regiment  of  Polish  lancers  was  quartered  there  for 
the  night,  and  the  pretty  Kellnerin  was  so  busy  in  waiting  on  the 
officers  that  she  had  no  eye  for  wandering  journeymen,  as  she 
took  us  to  be.  She  even  told  us  the  beds  were  all  occupied  and 
we  must  sleep  on  the  floor.  Just  then  the  landlord  came  by.  "Is 
it  possible,  Herr  Landlord,"  asked  our  new  companion,  "that 
there  is  no  bed  here  for  us  ?  Have  the  goodness  to  look  again, 
for  we  are  not  in  the  habit  of  sleeping  on  the  floor,  like  dogs !" 
This  speech  had  its  effect,  for  the  Kellnerin  was  commanded  to 
find  us  beds.  She  came  back  unwillingly  after  a  time  and  re- 
ported that  two,  only,  were  vacant.  As  a  German  bed  is  only  a 
yard  wide,  we  pushed  these  two  together,  but  they  were  still  too 
small  for  three  persons,  and  I  had  a  severe  cold  in  the  morning, 
from  sleeping  crouched  up  against  the  damp  wall. 

The  next  day  we  passed  the  dividing  ridge  which  separates 
the  waters  of  the  Elbe  from  the  Danube,  and  in  the  evening  ar- 
rived at  Znaim,  the  capital  of  Moravia.  It  is  built  on  a  steep  hill 
looking  down  on  the  valley  of  the  Thaya,  whose  waters  mingle 
with  the  Danube  near  Pressburo.  The  old  castle  on  the  height 
near,  was  formerly  the  residence  of  the  Moravian  monarchs,  and 
traces  of  the  ancient  walls  and  battlements  of  the  city  are  still 
to  be  seen.  The  handwerker  took  us  to  the  inn  frequented  by 
his  craft — the  leather-curriers — and  we  conversed  together  till 
bed-time.  While  telling  me  of  the  oppressive  laws  of  Austria, 
tlie  degrading  vassalage  of  the  peasants  and  the  horrors  of  the 
conscription  system,  he  paused  as  in  deep  thought,  and  looking 
at  me  with  a  suppressed  sigh,  said  :  "  Is  it  not  true,  America  is 
free?"  I  told  him  of  our  country  and  her  institutions,  adding 
that  though  we  were  not  yet  as  free  as  we  hoped  and  wished  to 
be,  we  enjoyed  far  more  liberty  than  any  country  in  the  world. 
"Ah!"  said  he,  "it  is  hard  to  leave  one's  fatherland  oppressed 
as  it  is,  but  I  wish  I  could  go  to  America  !" 

8* 


154  VIEWS   A-FOOT- 


We  left  next  morning  at  eight  o'clock,  after  having  done  full 
justice  to  the  beds  of  the  "  Golden  Stag,"  and  taken  leave  of 
Florian  Francke,  the  honest  and  hearty  old  landlord.  Znaim 
appears  to  great  advantage  from  the  Vienna  road ;  the  wind 
which  blew  with  fury  against  our  backs,  would  not  permit  us 
to  look  long  at  it,  but  pushed  us  on  towards  the  Austrian  border. 
In  the  course  of  three  hours  we  were  obliged  to  stop  at  a  little 
village ;  it  blew  a  perfect  hurricane  and  the  rain  began  to  soak 
through  our  garments.  Here  we  stayed  three  hours  among  the 
wagoners  who  stopped  on  account  of  the  weather.  One  misera- 
ble, drunken  wretch,  whom  one  would  not  wish  to  look  at  more 
than  once,  distinguished  himself  by  insulting  those  around  him, 
and  devouring  like  a  beast,  large  quantities  of  food.  When  the 
reckoning  was  given  him,  he  declared  he  had  already  paid,  and 
the  waiter  denying  it,  he  said,  "  Stop,  I  will  show  you  some- 
thing !"  pulled  out  his  passport  and  pointed  to  the  name — "  Baron 
von  Reitzenstein."  It  availed  notiiing ;  he  had  fallen  so  low 
that  his  title  inspired  no  respect,  and  when  we  left  the  inn  they 
were  still  endeavoring  to  get  their  money  and  threatening  him 
with  a  summary  proceeding  if  the  demand  was  not  complied 
with. 

Next  morning  the  sky  was  clear  and  a  glorious  day  opened  be- 
fore us.  The  country  became  more  beautiful  as  we  approached 
the  Danube ;  the  hills  were  covered  with  vineyards,  just  in  the 
tender  green  of  their  first  leaves^  and  the  rich  valleys  lay  in  Sab- 
bath stillness  in  the  warm  sunshine.  Sometimes  from  an  eminence 
we  could  see  far  and  wide  over  the  garden-like  slopes,  where 
little  white  villages  shone  among  the  blossoming  fruit-trees.  A 
chain  of  blue  hills  rose  in  front,  which  I  knew  almost  instinctively 
stood  by  the  Danube  ;  when  we  climbed  to  the  last  height  and 
began  to  descend  to  the  valley,  where  the  river  was  still  hidden  by 
luxuriant  groves,  I  saw  far  to  the  southwest,  a  range  of  faint,  sil- 
very summits,  rising  through  the  dim  ether  like  an  airy  vision. 
There  was  no  mistaking  those  snowy  mountains.  My  heart 
bounded  with  a  sudden  thrill  of  rapturous  excitement  at  this  first 
view  of  the  Alps !  They  were  at  a  great  distance,  and  their 
outline  was  almost  blended  with  the  blue  drapery  of  air  which 
clothed  them.     I  gazed  till  my  vision  became  dim  and  I  could  no 


THE  ALPS   AND   THE  DANUBE.  155 

longer  trace  their  airy  lines.  They  called  up  images  blended 
with  the  grandest  events  in  the  world's  history,  I  tliought  of  the 
glorious  spirits  who  have  looked  upon  them  and  trodden  their  rug- 
ged sides — of  the  storms  in  which  they  veil  their  countenances, 
and  the  avalanches  they  hurl  thundering  to  the  valleys — of  the 
voices  of  great  deeds,  which  have  echoed  from  their  crags  over 
the  wide  earth — and  of  the  ages  which  havo  broken,  like  the 
waves  of  a  mighty  sea,  upon  their  everlasting  summits ! 

As  we  descended,  the  hills  and  forests  shut  out  this  sublime 
vision,  and  I  looked  to  the  wood-clothed  mountains  opposite  and 
tried  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  current  that  rolled  at  their  feet. 
We  here  entered  upon  a  rich  plain,  about  ten  miles  in  diameter, 
which  lay  between  a  backward  sweep  of  the  hills  and  a  curve  of 
the  Danube.  It  was  covered  with  the  richest  grain  ;  every  thing 
wore  the  luxuriance  of  summer,  and  we  seemed  to  have  changed 
seasons  since  leaving  the  dreary  hills  of  Bohemia.  Continuing  over 
the  plain,  we  had  on  our  left  the  fields  of  Wagram  and  Essling,  the 
scene  of  two  of  Napoleon's  blood-bought  victories.  The  outposts 
of  the  Carpathians  skirted  the  horizon — that  great  mountain  range 
which  stretches  through  Flungary  to  the  borders  of  Russia. 

At  length  the  road  came  to  the  river's  side,  and  we  crossed  on 
wooden  bridges  over  two  or  three  arms  of  the  Danube,  all  of 
which  together  were  little  wider  than  the  Schuylkill  at  Philadel- 
phia. When  we  crossed  the  last  bridge,  we  came  to  a  kind  of 
island  covered  with  groves  of  the  silver  ash.  Crowds  of  people 
filled  the  cool  walks  ;  booths  of  refreshment  stood  by  the  roadside, 
and  music  was  everywhere  heard.  The  road  finally  terminated 
in  a  circle,  where  beautiful  alleys  radiated  into  the  groves ;  from 
the  opposite  side  a  broad  street  lined  with  stately  buildings  ex- 
tended into  the  heart  of  the  city,  and  through  this  avenue,  filled 
with  crowds  of  carriages  and  people  on  their  way  to  those  delight- 
ful walks,  we  entered  Vienna  ! 


156  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


VIENNA. 


May  31. — I  have  at  last  seen  the  thousand  wonders  of  this 
great  capital — this  German  Paris — this  connecting  link  between 
the  civilization  of  Europe  and  the  barbaric  magnificence  of  the 
East.  It  looks  familiar  to  be  in  a  city  again,  whose  streets  are 
thronged  with  people,  and  resound  with  the  din  and  bustle  of  busi- 
ness. It  reminds  me  of  the  never-ending  crowds  of  London,  or 
the  life  and  tumult  of  our  scarcely  less  active  New  York.  Al- 
though the  end  may  be  sordid  for  which  so  many  are  laboring, 
yet  the  very  sight  of  so  much  activity  is  gratifying.  It  is  pecu- 
liarly so  to  an  American.  After  residing  in  a  foreign  land  for 
some  time,  the  peculiarities  of  our  nation  are  more  easily  noticed  ; 
I  find  in  my  countrymen  abroad  a  vein  of  restless  energy — a  love 
for  exciting  action — which  to  many  of  our  good  German  friend? 
is  perfectly  incomprehensible.  It  might  have  been  this  which 
gave  at  once  a  favorable  impression  of  Vienna. 

The  morning  of  our  arrival  we  sallied  out  from  our  lodgings  in 
the  Leopoldstadt,  to  explore  the  world  before  us.  Entering  the 
broad  Praterstrasse,  we  passed  down  to  the  little  arm  of  the 
Danube,  which  separates  this  part  of  the  new  city  from  the  old. 
A  row  of  magnificent  coffee-houses  occupy  the  bank,  and  numbers 
of  persons  were  taking  their  breakfasts  in  the  shady  porticoes. 
The  Ferdinand's  Bridge,  which  crosses  the  stream,  was  filled  with 
people ;  in  the  motley  crowd  we  saw  the  dark-eyed  Greek,  and 
Turks  in  their  turbans  and  flowinsr  robes.  Little  brown  Hunca- 
rian  boys  were  going  around,  selling  bunches  of  lilies,  and  Italians 
with  baskets  of  oranges  stood  by  the  side- walk.  The  throng  be- 
came greater  as  we  penetrated  into  the  old  city.  The  streets 
were  filled  with  carts  and  carriages,  and  as  there  are  no  side- 
pavements,  it  required  constant  attention  to  keep  out  of  their  way 


VIEW   OF   VIENNA.  157 

)   ■ ; ; ] 

/  Splendid  shops,  fitted  up  with  great  taste,  occupied  the  whole  of 
the  lower  stories,  and  ^oods  of  all  kinds  hung  beneath  the  can- 
vass awnings  in  front  of  them.  Almost  every  store  or  shop  was 
dedicated  to  some  particular  person  or  place,  which  was  repre- 
sented  on  a  large  panel  by  the  door.  The  number  of  these  paint- 
ings added  much  to  the  splendor  of  the  scene ;  I  was  gratified  to 
find,  among  the  images  of  kings  and  dukes,  one  dedicated  "  to 
the  American/^  with  an  Indian  chief  in  full  costume. 

The  Alistadt,  or  old  city,  which  contains  about  sixty  thousand 
inhabitants,  is  completely  separated  from  the  suburbs,  whose  popu- 
lation, taking  the  whole  extent  within  the  outer  barrier,  numbers 
nearly  half  a  million.  It  is  situated  on  a  small  arm  of  the  Dan- 
ube, and  encompassed  by  a  series  of  public  promenades,  gardens 
and  walks,  varying  from  a  quarter  to  half  a  mile  in  length, 
called  the  Glacis.  This  formerly  belonged  to  the  fortifications 
of  the  city,  but  as  the  suburbs  grew  up  so  rapidly  on  all  sides,  it 
was  changed  appropriately  to  a  public  walk.  The  city  is  still 
surrounded  with  a  massive  wall  and  a  deep  wide  moat ;  but  since 
it  was  taken  by  Napoleon  in  1809,  the  moat  has  been  changed 
into  a  garden,  with  a  beautiful  carriage  road  along  the  bottom, 
around  the  whole  citv.  It  is  a  beautiful  siorht,  to  stand  on  the 
summit  of  the  wall  and  look  over  the  broad  Glacis,  with  its  shady 
roads  branching  in  every  direction,  and  filled  with  inexhaustible 
streams  of  people.  The  Vorstaedte,  or  new  cities,  stretch  in  a 
circle  around,  beyond  this ;  all  the  finest  buildings  front  on  the 
Glacis,  among  which  the  splendid  Vienna  Theatre  and  the  church 
of  San  Carlo  Borromeo  are  conspicuous.  The  mountains  of  the 
Vienna  Forest  bound  the  view,  with  here  and  there  a  stately  cas- 
tle on  their  woody  summits.  I  was  reminded  of  London  as  seen 
from  Regent's  Park,  and  truly  this  part  of  Vienna  can  well  compare 
with  it.  On  penetrating  into  the  suburbs,  the  resemblance  is  at  an 
end.  Many  of  the  public  thoroughfares  are  still  unpaved,  and  in 
dry  weather  one  is  almost  choked  by  the  clouds  of  fine  dust.  A 
furious  wind  blows  from  the  mountains,  sweeping  the  streets 
almost  constantly  and  filling  the  eyes  and  ears  with  it,  making 
the  city  an  unhealthy  residence  for  strangers. 

There  is  no  lack  of  places  for  pleasure  or  amusement.  Beside 
the  numberless  walks  of  the  Glacis,  there  are  the  Imperial  Gar- 


158  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


dens,  with  their  cool  shades  and  flowers  and  fountains  ;  the  Au- 
garten,  laid  out  and  opened  to  the  public  by  the  Emperor  Joseph : 
and  the  Prater,  the  largest  and  most  beautiful  of  all.  It  lies  on 
an  island  formed  by  the  arms  of  the  Danube,  and  is  between  two 
and  three  miles  square.  From  the  circle  at  the  end  of  the  Pra- 
terstrasse,  broad  carriage-ways  extend  through  its  forests  of  oak 
and  silver  ash,  and  over  its  verdant  lawns  to  the  principal  stream, 
which  bounds  it  on  the  north.  These  roads  are  lined  with  stately 
horse  chesnuts,  whose  branches  unite  and  form  a  dense  canopy, 
completely  shutting  out  the  sun.  Every  afternoon  the  beauty 
and  nobility  of  Vienna  whirl  through  the  cool  groves  in  their  gay 
equipages,  while  the  sidewalks  are  thronged  with  pedestrians, 
and  the  numberless  tables  and  seats  with  which  every  house  of 
refreshment  is  surrounded,  are  filled  with  merry  guests.  Here, 
on  Sundays  and  holidays,  the  people  repair  in  thousands.  The 
woods  are  full  of  tame  deer,  which  run  perfectly  free  over  the 
whole  Prater.  I  saw  several  in  one  of  the  lawns,  lying  down  in 
the  grass,  with  a  number  of  children  playing  around  or  sitting 
beside  them.  It  is  delightful  to  walk  there  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  when  the  paths  are  crowded,  and  everybody  is  enjoying 
the  release  from  the  dusty  city.  It  is  this  free,  social  life  which 
renders  Vienna  so  attractive  to  foreigners  and  draws  yearly 
thousands  of  visitors  from  all  parts  of  Europe. 

St.  Stephen's  Cathedral,  in  the  centre  of  the  old  city,  is  one  of 
the  finest  specimens  of  Gothic  architecture  in  Germany.  Its  un- 
rivalled tower,  which  rises  to  the  height  of  four  hundred  and 
twenty-eight  feet,  is  visible  from  every  part  of  Vienna.  It  is  en- 
tirely of  stone,  most  elaborately  ornamented,  and  is  supposed  to  be 
the  strongest  in  Europe.  If  the  tower  was  finished,  it  might  rival 
any  church  in  Europe  in  richness  and  brilliancy  of  appearance. 
The  inside  is  solemn  and  grand ;  but  the  effect  is  injured  by  the 
number  of  small  chapels  and  shrines.  In  one  of  these  rests  the 
remains  of  Prince  Eugene  of  Savoy,  "(7er  edie  Ritter,'^  known  in 
a  ballad  to  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  Germany. 

The  Belvidere  Gallery  fills  thirty-five  halls,  and  contains  three 
thousand  pictures !  It  is  absolutely  bewildering  to  walk  through 
such  vast  collections ;  you  can  do  no  more  than  glance  at  each 
painting,  and  hurry  by  face  after  face,  and  figure  after  figure,  on 


THE   BELVIDERE   GALLERY.  159 


which  you  would  willingly  gaze  for  hours  and  inhale  the  atmos- 
phere of  beauty  that  surrounds  them.  Then  after  you  leave,  the 
brain  is  filled  with  their  forms — radiant  spirit-faces  look  upon 
you,  and  you  see  constantly,  in  fancy,  the  calm  brow  of  a  Ma- 
donna, the  sweet  young  face  of  a  child,  or  the  blending  of  divine 
with  mortal  beauty  in  an  angel's  countenance.  I  endeavor,  if 
possible,  always  to  make  several  visits — to  study  those  pictures 
which  cling^r5^  to  the  memory,  and  pass  over  those  which  make 
little  or  no  impression.  It  is  better  to  have  a  few  images  fresh 
and  enduring,  than  a  confused  and  indistinct  memory  of  many. 

From  the  number  of  Madonnas  in  every  European  gallery,  it 
would  almost  seem  that  the  old  artists  painted  nothing  else.  The 
subject  is  one  which  requires  the  highest  genius  to  do  it  justice, 
and  it  is  therefore  unpleasant  to  see  so  many  still,  inexpressive 
faces  of  the  virgin  and  child,  particularly  by  the  Dutch  artists, 
who  clothe  their  figures  sometimes  in  the  stiff"  costume  of  their 
own  time.  Raphael  and  Murillo  appear  to  me  to  be  almost  the 
only  painters  who  have  expressed  what,  perhaps,  was  above  the 
power  of  other  masters — the  combined  love  and  reverence  of  the 
mother,  and  the  divine  expression  in  the  face  of  the  child,  pro- 
phetic of  his  mission  and  godlike  power. 

There  were  many  glorious  old  paintings  in  the  second  story, 
which  is  entirely  taken  up  with  pictures  ;  two  or  three  of  the 
halls  were  devoted  to  selected  works  from  modern  artists. 
Two  of  these  I  would  give  every  thing  I  have  to  possess.  One 
of  them  is  a  winter  scene,  representing  the  portico  of  an  old 
Gothic  church.  At  the  base  of  one  of  the  pillars  a  woman  is 
seated  in  the  snow,  half-benumbed,  clasping  an  infant  to  her 
breast,  while  immediately  in  front  stands  a  boy  of  perhaps  seven 
or  eight  years,  his  little  hands  folded  in  prayer,  while  the  chill 
wind  tosses  the  lono^  curls  from  his  forehead.  There  is  something 
so  pure  and  holy  in  the  expression  of  his  childish  countenance, 
so  much  feeling  in  the  lip  and  sorrowful  eye,  that  it  moves  one 
almost  to  tears  to  look  upon  it.  I  turned  back  half  a  dozen  times 
from  the  other  pictures  to  view  it  again,  and  blessed  the  artist  in 
my  heart  for  the  lesson  he  gave.  The  other  is  by  a  young  Italian 
painter,  whose  name  I  have  forgotten,  but  who,  if  he  never  painted 
anything  else,  is  worthy  a  high  place   among  the  artists  of  his 


160  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


country.  It  represents  some  scene  from  the  history  of  Venice. 
On  an  open  piazza,  a  noble  prisoner,  wasted  and  pale  from  long 
confinement,  has  just  had  an  interview  with  his  children.  He 
reachee  his  arm  toward  them  as  if  for  the  last  time,  while  a  sav- 
age keeper  drags  him  away.  A  lovely  little  girl  kneels  at  the 
feet  of  the  Doge,  but  there  is  no  compassion  in  his  stern  features, 
and  it  is  easy  to  see  that  her  father  is  doomed. 

The  Lower  Belvidere,  separated  from  the  Upper  by  a  large 
garden,  laid  out  in  the  style  of  that  at  Versailles,  contains  the 
celebrated  Ambrascr  Sammlung,  a  collection  of  armor.  In  the 
first  hall  I  noticed  the  complete  armor  of  the  Emperor  Maximi- 
lian,  for  man  and  horse — the  armor  of  Charles  V.,  and  Prince 
Moritz  of  Saxony,  while  the  walls  were  filled  with  figures  of 
German  nobles  and  knights,  in  the  suits  they  wore  in  life.  There 
is  also  the  armor  of  the  great  "  Baver  of  Trient,"  trabant  of  the 
Archduke  Ferdinand.  He  was  nearly  nine  feet  in  stature,  and 
his  spear,  though  not  equal  to  Satan's,  in  Paradise  Lost,  would 
still  make  a  tree  of  tolerable  dimensions. 

In  the  second  hall  we  saw  weapons  taken  from  the  Turkish 
army  who  besieged  Vienna,  with  the  horse-tail  standards  of  the 
Grand  Vizier,  Kara  Mustapha.  The  most  interesting  article  was 
the  battle-axe  of  the  unfortunate  Montezuma,  which  was  proba- 
bly given  to  the  Emperor  Charles  V.,  by  Cortez.  It  is  a  plain 
instrument  of  dark  colored  stone,  about  three  feet  long. 

We  also  visited  the  Burgerliche  Zeughaus,  a  collection  of  arms 
and  weapons,  belonging  to  the  citizens  of  Vienna.  It  contains 
sixteen  thousand  weapons  and  suits  of  armor,  including  those 
plundered  from  the  Turks,  when  John  Sobieski  conquered  them 
and  relieved  Vienna  from  the  siege.  Besides  a  great  number  of 
sabres,  lances  and  horsetails,  there  is  the  blood-red  banner  of  the 
Grand  Vizier,  as  well  as  his  skull  and  shroud,  which  is  covered 
with  sentences  from  the  Koran.  On  his  return  to  Belgrade,  after 
the  defeat  at  Vienna,  the  Sultan  sent  him  a  bow-string,  and  he 
was  accordingly  strangled.  The  Austrians  having  taken  Bel- 
grade some  time  after,  they  opened  his  grave  and  carried  off  his 
skull  and  shroud,  as  well  as  the  bow-string,  as  relics.  Another 
large  and  richly  embroidered  banner,  which  hung  in  a  broad 
sheet  from  the  ceiling,  was  far  mort    interesting  to  me.     It  had 


THE  IRON  STICK.  161 


once  waved  from  the  vessels  of  the  Knights  of  Malta,  and  had, 
perhaps,  on  the  prow  of  the  Grand  Master's  ship,  led  that  roman- 
tic band  to  battle  against  the  Infidel. 

A  large  number  of  peasants  and  common  soldiers  were  admit- 
ted to  view  the  armory  at  the  same  time.  The  grave  custode  who 
showed  us  the  curiosities,  explaining  every  thing  in  phrases  known 
by  heart  for  years  and  making  the  same  starts  of  admiration  when- 
ever he  came  to  any  thing  peculiarly  remarkable,  singled  us  out 
as  the  two  persons  most  worthy  of  attention.  Accordingly  his 
remarks  were  directed  entirely  to  us,  and  his  humble  countrymen 
misht  as  well  have  been  invisible,  for  the  notice  he  took  of  them. 
On  passing  out,  we  gave  him  a  coin  worth  about  fifteen  cents, 
which  happened  to  be  so  much  more  than  the  others  gave  him, 
that,  bowing  graciously,  he  invited  us  to  write  our  names  in  the 
album  for  strangers.  While  we  were  doing  this,  a  poor  hand- 
werker  lingered  behind,  apparently  for  the  same  object,  whom  he 
scornfully  dismissed,  shaking  the  fifteen  cent  piece  in  his  hand, 
and  saying  :  "  The  album  is  not  for  such  as  you — it  is  for  noble 
gentlemen  !" 

On  our  way  through  the  city,  we  often  noticed  a  house  on  the 
southern  side  of  St.  Stephen's  Platz,  dedicated  to  "  the  Iron  Stick." 
In  a  niche  by  the  window,  stood  what  appeared  to  be  the  limb  of 
a  tree,  completely  filled  with  nails,  which  were  driven  in  so  thick 
that  no  part  of  the  original  wood  is  visible.  We  learned  after- 
wards the  legend  concerning  it.  The  Vienna  Forest  is  said  to 
have  extended,  several  hundred  years  ago,  to  this  place.  A  lock- 
smith's apprentice  was  enabled,  by  the  devil's  help,  to  make  the 
iron  bars  and  padlock  which  confine  the  limb  in  its  place ;  every 
locksmith's  apprentice  who  came  to  Vienna  after  that,  drove  a 
nail  into  it,  till  finally  there  was  room  for  no  more.  It  is  a  singu- 
lar legend,  and  whoever  may  have  placed  the  limb  there  origi- 
nally, there  it  has  remained  for  two  or  three  hundred  years  at 
least. 

We  spent  two  or  three  hours  delightfully  one  evening  in  listen- 
ing to  Strauss's  band.  We  went  about  sunset  to  the  Odeon,  a 
new  building  in  the  Leopoldstadt.  It  has  a  refreshment  hall 
nearly  five  hundred  feet  long,  with  a  handsome  fresco  ceiling  and 
glass  doors  opening  into  a  garden  walk  of  the  same  length.    Both 


162  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  hall  and  garden  were  filled  with  tables,  where  the  people 
seated  themselves  as  they  came,  and  conversed  sociably  over 
their  coffee  and  wine.  The  orchestra  was  placed  in  a  little  orna- 
mental temple  in  the  garden,  in  front  of  which  I  stationed  myself, 
for  I  was  anxious  to  see  the  world's  waltz-king,  whose  magic 
tones  can  set  the  heels  of  half  Christendom  in  motion.  After  the 
band  had  finished  tuning  their  instruments,  a  middle-sized,  hand- 
some man  stepped  forward  with  long  strides,  with  a  violin  in  one 
hand  and  bow  in  the  other,  and  began  waving  the  latter  up  and 
down,  like  a  magician  summoning  his  spirits.  As  if  he  had 
waved  the  sound  out  of  his  bow,  the  tones  leaped  forth  from  the 
instruments,  and  guided  by  his  eye  and  hand,  fell  into  a  merry 
measure.  The  accuracy  with  which  every  instrument  performed 
its  part,  was  truly  marvellous.  He  could  not  have  struck  the 
measure  or  the  harmony  more  certainly  from  the  keys  of  his  own 
piano,  than  from  that  large  band.  The  sounds  struggled  forth, 
so  perfect  and  distinct,  that  one  almost  expected  to  see  them  em- 
bodied, whirling  in  wild  dance  around  him.  Sometimes  the  air 
was  so  exquisitely  light  and  bounding,  the  feet  could  scarcely 
keep  on  the  earth  ;  then  it  sank  into  a  mournful  lament,  with  a 
sobbing  tremulousness,  and  died  away  in  a  long-breathed  sigh. 
Strauss  seemed  to  feel  the  music  in  every  limb.  He  would  wave 
his  fiddle-bow  awhile,  then  commence  playing  with  desperate 
energy,  moving  his  whole  body  to  the  measure,  till  the  sweat 
rolled  from  his  brow.  A  book  was  lying  on  the  stand  before  him, 
but  he  made  no  use  of  it.  He  often  glanced  around  with  a  kind 
of  half-triumphant  smile  at  the  restless  crowd,  whose  feet  could 
scarcely  be  restrained  from  bounding  to  the  magic  measure.  It 
was  the  horn  of  Oberon  realized.  The  composition  of  the  music 
displayed  great  talent,  but  its  charm  consisted  more  in  the  exqui- 
site combination  of  the  different  instruments,  and  the  perfect,  the 
wonderful  exactness  with  which  each  performed  its  part — a  piece 
of  art  of  the  most  elaborate  and  refined  character. 

The  company,  which  consisted  of  several  hundred,  appeared 
to  be  full  of  enjoyment.  They  sat  under  the  trees  in  the  calm, 
cool  twilight,  with  the  stars  twinkling  above,  and  talked  and 
laughed  sociably  together  between  the  pauses  of  the  music,  or 
strolled   ud   and   down  the  lighted  alleys.     We   walked  up  and 


THE  TOMB   OF   BEETHOVEN.  163 


down  with  them,  and  thought  how  much  we  should  enjoy  such  a 
scene  at  home,  where  the  faces  around  us  would  be  those  of 
friends,  and  the  language  our  mother  tongue  ! 

We  went  a  long  way  through  the  suburbs  one  bright  afternoon, 
to  a  little  cemetery  about  a  mile  from  the  city,  to  find  the  grave 
of  Beethoven.  On  ringing  at  the  gate  a  girl  admitted  us  into  the 
grounds,  in  which  are  many  monuments  of  noble  families  who 
have  vaults  there.  I  passed  up  the  narrow  walk,  reading  the  in- 
scriptions, till  I  came  to  the  tomb  of  Franz  Clement,  a  young 
composer,  who  died  two  or  three  years  ago.  On  turning  again, 
my  eye  fell  instantly  on  the  word  "  Beethoven,"  in  golden  let- 
ters, on  a  tombstone  of  gray  marble.  A  simple  gilded  lyre  deco- 
rated the  pedestal,  above  which  was  a  serpent  encircling  a  but- 
terfly— the  emblem  of  resurrection  to  eternal  life.  Here  then, 
mouldered  the  remains  of  that  restless  spirit,  who  seemed  to  have 
strayed  to  earth  from  another  clime,  from  such  a  height  did  he 
draw  his  glorious  conceptions.  The  perfection  he  sought  for  here 
in  vain,  he  has  now  attained  in  a  world  where  the  soul  is  freed 
from  the  bars  which  bind  it  in  this.  There  were  no  flowers 
planted  around  the  tomb  by  those  who  revered  his  genius ;  only 
one  wreath,  withered  and  dead,  lay  among  the  grass,  as  if  left 
long  ago  by  some  solitary  pilgrim,  and  a  few  wild  buttercups 
hung  with  their  bright  blossoms  over  the  slab.  It  might  have 
been  wrong,  but  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  steal  one  or 
two,  while  the  old  grave-digger  was  busy  preparing  a  new  tene- 
ment. I  thought  that  other  buds  would  open  in  a  few  days,  but 
those  I  took  would  be  treasured  many  a  year  as  sacred  relics. 
A  few  paces  off  is  the  grave  of  Schubart,  the  composer,  whose 
beautiful  songs  are  heard  all  over  Germany. 

It  would  employ  one  a  week  to  visit  all  the  rich  collections  of 
art  in  Vienna.  They  are  all  open  to  the  public  on  certain  days 
of  the  week,  and  we  have  been  kept  constantly  in  motion,  run- 
ning from  one  part  of  the  city  to  another,  in  order  to  arrive  at 
some  gallery  at  the  appointed  time.  Tickets,  which  have  to  be 
procured  often  in  quite  different  parts  of  the  city,  are  necessary 
for  admittance  to  many  ;  on  applying  after  much  trouble  and 
search,  we  frequently  found  we  came  at  the  wrong  hour,  and 
must  leave  without  effecting  our  object.     We  employed  no  guide, 


164  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


but  preferred  finding  every  thing  ourselves.  We  made  a  list 
every  morning,  of  the  collections  open  during  the  day,  and  em- 
ployed the  rest  of  the  time  in  visiting  the  churches  and  public 
gardens,  or  rambling  through  the  suburbs. 

We  visited  the  Imperial  Library  a  day  or  tw^o  ago.  The  hall 
is  245  feet  long,  with  a  magnificent  dome  in  the  centre,  under 
which  stands  the  statue  of  Charles  V.,  of  Carrara  marble,  sur- 
rounded by  twelve  other  monarchs  of  the  house  of  Hapsburg. 
The  walls  are  of  variegated  marble,  richly  ornamented  with 
gold,  and  the  ceiling  and  dome  are  covered  with  brilliant  fresco 
paintings.  The  library  numbers  300,000  volumes,  and  16,000 
manuscripts,  which  are  kept  in  walnut  cases,  gilded  and  adorned 
with  medallions.  The  rich  and  harmonious  efTect  of  the  whole 
cannot  easily  be  imagined.  It  is  exceedingly  appropriate  that 
a  hall  of  such  splendor,  should  be  used  to  hold  a  library.  The 
pomp  of  a  palace  may  seem  hollow  and  vain,  for  it  is  but  the 
dwelling  of  a  man  ;  but  no  building  can  be  too  magnificent  for 
the  hundreds  of  great  and  immortal  spirits  to  dwell  in,  who  have 
visited  earth  during  thirty  centuries. 

Among  other  curiosities  preserved  in  the  collection,  we  were 
shown  a  brass  plate,  containing  one  of  the  records  of  the  Roman 
Senate,  made  180  years  before  Christ,  Greek  manuscripts  of  the 
fifth  and  sixth  centuries,  and  a  volume  of  Psalms,  printed  on 
parchment,  in  the  year  1457,  by  Faust  and  Schaeffer,  the  invent- 
ors of  printing.  There  were  also  Mexican  manuscripts,  pre- 
sented by  Cortez ;  the  prayer-book  of  Hildegard,  wife  of  Char- 
lemagne, in  letters  of  gold  ;  the  signature  of  San  Carlo  Borromeo, 
and  a  Greek  testament  of  the  thirteenth  century,  which  had  been 
used  by  Erasmus  in  making  his  translation  and  contains  notes 
in  his  own  hand.  The  most  interesting  article  was  the  "  Jerusa- 
lem Delivered"  of  Tasso,  in  the  poet's  own  hand,  with  his  era- 
sions  and  corrections. 

We  also  visited  the  Cabinet  of  Natural  History,  which  is  open 
twice  a  week  "  to  all  respectably  dressed  oersons,"  as  the  notice 
at  the  door  says.  But  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  attempt  to 
describe  what  we  saw  there.  The  Mineral  Cabinet  had  a  greater 
interest  to  me,  inasmuch  as  it  called  up  the  recollections  of  many 
a  school-boy  ramble  over  the  hills  and  into  all  kinds  of  quarries, 


CARRIAGES   AND   PICTURES.  165 

far  and  near.  It  is  said  to  be  the  most  perfect  collection  in  exist- 
ence. I  was  pleased  to  find  many  old  acquaintances  there,  from 
the  mines  of  Pennsylvania  ;  Massachusetts  and  New  York  were 
also  very  well  represented.  I  had  no  idea  before,  that  the  min- 
eral  wealth  of  Austria  was  so  great.  Besides  the  iron  and  lead 
mines  among  the  hills  of  Styria  and  the  quicksilver  of  Idria,  there 
is  no  small  amount  of  gold  and  silver  found,  and  the  Carpathian 
mountains  are  rich  in  jasper,  opal  and  lapiz  lazuli.  The  largest 
opal  ever  found,  was  in  this  collection.  It  weighs  thirty-four 
ounces  and  looks  like  a  condensed  rainbow. 

In  passing  the  palace,  we  saw  several  persons  entering  the 
basement  story  under  the  Library,  and  had  the  curiosity  to  fol- 
low them.  By  so  doing,  we  saw  the  splendid  equipages  of  the 
house  of  Austria.  There  must  have  been  near  a  hundred  car- 
riages and  sleds,  of  every  shape  and  style,  from  the  heavy, 
square  vehicle  of  the  last  century  to  the  most  light  and  elegan-t 
conveyance  of  the  present  day.  One  clumsy,  but  magnificent 
machine,  of  crimson  and  gold,  was  pointed  out  as  being  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  old.  The  misery  we  witnessed  in  starving 
Bohemia,  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  all  this  splendor. 

Beside  the  Imperial  Picture  Gallery,  there  are  several  belong- 
ing to  princes  and  noblemen  in  Vienna,  which  are  scarcely  less 
valuable.  The  most  important  of  these  is  that  of  Prince  Liech- 
tenstein, which  we  visited  yesterday.  We  applied  to  the  porter's 
lodge  for  admittance  to  the  gallery,  but  he  refused  to  open  it  for 
two  persons ;  as  we  did  not  wish  a  long  walk  for  nothing,  we  con- 
cluded to  wait  for  other  visitors.  Presently  a  gentleman  and  lady 
came  and  inquired  if  the  gallery  was  open.  We  told  him  it 
would  probably  be  opened  now,  although  the  porter  required  a 
larger  number,  and  he  went  to  ask.  After  a  short  time  he  re- 
turned, saying :  "  He  will  come  immediately  ;  I  thought  best  to 
put  the  number  a  little  higher,  and  so  I  told  him  there  were  six  of 
us  !"  Having  little  artistic  knowledge  of  paintings,  I  judge  of 
them  according  to  the  effect  they  produce  upon  me — in  propor- 
tion as  they  gratify  the  innate  love  for  the  beautiful  and  the  true. 
I  have  been  therefore  disappointed  in  some  painters  whose  names 
are  widely  known,  and  surprised  again  to  find  works  of  great 
beauty  by  others  of  smaller  fame.     Judging  by  such  a  standard, 


166  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


I  should  say  that  "  Cupid  sleeping  in  the  lap  of  Venus,"  by  Cor- 
reggio,  is  the  glory  of  this  collection.  The  beautiful  limbs  of 
the  boy-god  droop  in  the  repose  of  slumber,  as  his  head  rests  on 
his  mother's  knee,  and  there  is  a  smile  lingering  around  his  half- 
parted  lips,  as  if  he  was  dreaming  new  triumphs.  The  face  is 
not  that  of  the  wicked,  mischief-loving  child,  but  rather  a  sweet 
cherub,  bringing  a  blessing  to  all  he  visits.  The  figure  of  the 
goddess  is  exquisite.  Her  countenance,  unearthly  in  its  loveli- 
ness, expresses  the  tenderness  of  a  young  mother,  as  she  sits 
with  one  finger  pressed  on  her  rosy  lip,  watching  his  slumber.  It 
is  a  picture  which  "stings  the  brain  with  beauty." 

The  chapel  of  St.  Augustine  contains  one  of  the  best  works  of 
Canova — the  monument  of  the  Grand  Duchess,  Maria  Christina, 
of  Sachsen-Teschen.  It  is  a  pyramid  of  gray  marble,  twenty- 
eight  feet  high,  with  an  opening  in  the  side,  representing  the  en- 
trance to  a  sepulchre.  A  female  figure  personating  Virtue  bears 
in  an  urn  to  the  grave,  the  ashes  of  the  departed,  attended  by  two 
children  with  torches.  The  figure  of  Compassion  follows,  lead- 
ing an  aged  beggar  to  the  tomb  of  his  benefactor,  and  a  little 
child  with  its  hands  folded.  On  the  lower  step  rests  a  mourning 
Genius  beside  a  sleeping  lion,  and  a  bas-relief  on  the  pyramid 
above  represents  an  angel  carrying  Christina's  image,  surrounded 
with  the  emblem  of  eternity,  to  Heaven.  A  spirit  of  deep  sorrow, 
which  is  touchingly  portrayed  in  the  countenance  of  the  old  man, 
pervades  the  whole  group.  While  we  looked  at  it,  the  organ 
breathed  out  a  slow,  mournful  strain,  which  harmonized  so  fully 
with  the  expression  of  the  figures,  that  we  seemed  to  be  listening 
to  the  requiem  of  the  one  they  mourned.  The  combined  effect  of 
music  and  sculpture,  thus  united  in  their  deep  pathos,  was  such, 
that  I  could  have  sat  down  and  wept.  It  was  not  from  sadness  at 
the  death  of  a  benevolent  though  unknown  individual, — but  the 
feeling  of  grief,  of  perfect,  unmingled  sorrow,  so  powerfully 
represented,  came  to  the  heart  like  an  echo  of  its  own  emotion, 
and  carried  it  away  with  irresistible  influence.  Travellers  have 
described  the  same  feeling  while  listening  to  the  Miserere  in  the 
Sistine  Chapel,  at  Rome.  Canova  could  not  have  chiseled  the 
monument  without  tears. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  objects  in  Vienna,  is  the  Imperial 


THE   IMPERIAL   ARMORY.  167 

Armory.  We  were  admitted  througli  tickets  previously  procured 
from  the  Armory  Direction  ;  as  there  was  already  one  large  com- 
pany within,  we  were  told  to  wait  in  the  court  till  our  turn  came. 
Around  the  wall  on  the  inside,  is  suspended  the  enormous  chain 
which  the  Turks  stretched  across  the  Danube  at  Buda,  in  the  year 
1529,  to  obstruct  the  navigation.  It  has  eight  thousand  links  and 
is  nearly  a  mile  in  length.  The  court  is  filled  with  cannon  of  all 
shapes  and  sizes,  many  of  which  were  conquered  from  other  na- 
tions. I  saw  a  great  many  which  were  cast  during  the  French 
Revolution,  with  the  words  ^^ Liberie  !  Egalite /''  upon  them,  and 
a  number  of  others  bearing  the  simple  letter  "  N." 

Finally  the  first  company  came  down  and  the  forty  or  fifty  per- 
sons who  had  collected  during  the  interval,  were  admitted.  The 
Armory  runs  around  a  hollow  square,  and  must  be  at  least  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  length.  We  were  all  taken  into  a  circular 
hall,  made  entirely  of  weapons,  to  represent  the  four  quarters  of 
the  globe.  Here  the  crusty  old  guide  who  admitted  us,  rapped 
with  his  stick  on  the  shield  of  an  old  knight  who  stood  near,  to 
keep  silence,  and  then  addressed  us :  "  When  I  speak  every  one 
must  be  silent.  No  one  can  write  or  draw  anything.  No  one 
shall  touch  anything,  or  go  to  look  at  anything  else,  before  I  have 
done  speaking.  Otherwise,  they  shall  be  taken  immediately  into 
the  street  again !"  Thus  in  every  hall  he  rapped  and  scolded, 
drivinff  the  women  to  one  side  with  his  stick  and  the  men  to  the 
other,  till  we  were  nearly  through,  when  the  thought  of  the  coming 
fee  made  him  a  little  more  polite.  He  had  a  regular  set  of 
descriptions  by  heart,  which  he  went  through  with  a  great  flour- 
ish, pointing  particularly  to  the  common  military  caps  of  the  late 
Emperors  of  Prussia  and  Austria,  as  "  treasures  beyond  all  price 
to  the  nation  !"  Whereupon,  the  crowd  of  common  people  gazed 
reverently  on  the  shabby  beavers,  and  I  verily  believe,  would 
have  devoutly  kissed  them,  had  the  glass  covering  been  removed. 
I  happened  to  be  next  to  a  tall,  dignified  young  man,  who  looked 
on  all  this  with  a  displeasure  almost  amounting  to  contempt. 
Seeing  I  was  a  foreigner,  he  spoke,  in  a  low  tone,  bitterly  of  the 
Austrian  government.  "  You  are  not  then  an  Austrian  ?"  I  asked. 
"  No,  thank  God  T'  was  the  reply  :  "  but  I  have  seen  enough  of 
Austrian  tyranny.     I  am  a  Pole  '" 


168  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


The  first  wing  contains  banners  used  in  the  French   Revolu- 
tion, and  liberty  trees  with  the  red  cap  ;  the  armor  of  Rudolph 
of  Hapsburg,  Maximilian  I.,  the  Emperor  Charles  V.,  and  the 
hat,  sword  and  order  of  Marshal  Schwarzenberg.     Some  of  the 
halls  represent  a  fortification,  with  walls,  ditches  and  embank- 
ments, made  of  muskets  and  swords.     A  long  room  in  the  second 
wing  contains  an  encampment,  in  which  twelve  or  fifteen   large 
tents  are  formed  in  >ike  manner.     Along  the  sides  are  grouped 
old  Austrian  banners,  standards  taken  from  the  French,  and  horse- 
tails and  flags  captured  from  the  Turks.     "  They  make  a  great 
boast,"  said  the  Pole,  "  of  a  half  dozen  French  colors,  but  let 
them  go  to  the  Hospital  des  Invalides,  in  Paris,  and   they   will 
find  hundreds  of  the  best  banners  of  Austria !"     They  also  ex- 
hibited  the  armor  of  a  dwarf  king  of  Bohemia  and  Hungary, 
who  died,  a  gray-headed  old  man,  in  his  twentieth  year  ;  the  sword 
of  Marlborough  ;  the  coat  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  pierced  in  the 
breast  and  back  with  the  bullet  which  killed  him  at  Liitzen  ;   the 
armor  of  the  old  Bohemian  princess  Libussa,  and  that  of  the  am- 
azon  Wlaska,  with  a  steel  visor  made  to  fit  the  features  of  her 
face.     The  last  wing  was  the  most  remarkable.     Here  we  saw 
the  helm  and   breastplate   of  Attila,   king   of  the   Huns,   which 
once  glanced  at  the  head  of  his  myriads  of  wild  hordes,  before 
the  walls  of  Rome ;  the  armor  of  Count  Stahremberg,  who  com- 
manded Vienna  during  the  Turkish  siege  in  1529,  and  the  holy 
banner  of  Mahomet,  taken  at  that  time  from  the  Grand  Vizier, 
together  with  the  steel  harness  of  John  Sobieski  of  Poland,  who 
rescued  Vienna  from  the  Turkish  troops  under  Kara  Mustapha ; 
the  hat,  sword  and  breastplate  of  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  the  Cru- 
sader-king of  Jerusalem,  with  the  banners  of  the  cross  the  Crusa- 
ders had  borne  to  Palestine,  and  the  standard  they  captured  from 
the  Turks  on  the  walls  of  the  Holy  City  !     I  felt  all  my  boyish 
enthusiasm  for  the  romantic  age  of  the  Crusaders  revive,   as  I 
looked  on  the  torn  and  mouldering  banners  which  once  waved  on 
the  hills  of  Judea,  or  perhaps  followed  the  sword  of  the  Lion 
Heart  through  the  fight  on  the  field  of  Ascalon !      What  tales 
could  they  not  tell,  those  old  standards,  cut  and  shivered  by  spear 
and  lance  !     What  brave  hands  have  carried  them  through  the 
storm  of  battle,  what  dying  eyes  have  looked  upwards  tothecroBS 


SCENE   AT   THE  PASSPORT   OFFICE.  169 

on  their  folds,  as  the  last  prayer  was  breathed  for  the  rescue  of 
the  Holy  Sepulchre  ! 

I  nmst  now  close  the  catalogue.  This  morning  we  shall  look 
upon  Vienna  for  the  last  time.  Our  knapsacks  are  repacked,  and 
the  passports  (precious  documents  !)  vised  for  Munich.  The  get- 
tinsf  of  this  vise,  however,  caused  a  comical  scene  at  the  Police 
Office,  yesterday.  We  entered  the  Inspector's  Hall  and  took  our 
stand  quietly  among  the  crowd  of  persons  who  were  gathered 
around  a  railing  which  separated  them  from  the  main  office.  One 
of  the  clerks  came  up,  scowling  at  us,  and  asked  in  a  rough  tone, 
"  What  do  you  want  here  ?"  We  handed  him  our  tickets  of 
sojourn  (for  when  a  traveler  spends  more  than  twenty-four  hours 
in  a  German  city,  he  must  take  out  a  permission  and  pay  for  it) 
with  the  request  that  he  would  give  us  our  passports.  He  glanced 
over  the  tickets,  came  back  and  with  constrained  politeness  asked 
us  to  step  within  the  railing.     Here  we  were  introduced  to  the 

Chief  Inspector.     "  Desire  Herr    to  come  here,"  said  he  to 

a  servant;  then  turning  to  us,  "  I  am  happy  to  see  the  gentlemen 
in  Vienna."  An  officer  immediately  came  up,  who  addressed  us 
in  fluent  English.  "  You  may  speak  in  your  native  tongue," 
said  the  Inspector  : — "  excuse  our  neglect ;  from  the  facility  with 
which  you  speak  German,  we  supposed  you  were  natives  of  Aus- 
tria !"  Our  passports  were  signed  at  once  and  given  us  with  a 
gracious  bow,  accompanied  by  the  hope  that  we  would  visit  Vi- 
enna again  before  long.  All  this,  of  course,  was  perfectly  unin- 
telligible to  the  wondering  crowd  outside  the  railing.  Seeing 
however,  the  honors  we  were  receiving,  they  crowded  back  and 
respectfully  made  room  for  us  to  pass  out.  I  kept  a  grave  face  till 
we  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  when  I  gave  way  to  restrained 
laughter  in  a  manner  that  shocked  the  dignity  of  the  guard,  who 
looked  savagely  at  me  over  his  forest  of  moustache.  I  would 
nevertheless  have  felt  grateful  for  the  attention  we  received  as 
Americans,  were  it  not  for  our  uncourteous  reception  as  suspect?!'^ 
Austrians. 

We  have  just  been  exercising  the  risible  muscles  again,  though 
from  a  very  different  cause,  and  one  which,  according  to  common 
custom,  ought  to  draw  forth  symptoms  of  a  lachrymose  nature. 

This  morning  B suggested  an  examination  of  our  funds,  for 

9 


170  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


we  had  neglected  keeping  a  strict  account,  and  what  with  being 
cheated  in  Bohemia  and  tempted  by  the  amusements  of  Vienna, 
there  was  an  apparent  dwindling  away.  So  we  emptied  our  pock- 
ets and  purses,  counted  up  the  contents,  and  found  we  had  just 
ten  florins,  or  four  dollars  apiece.  The  thought  of  our  situation, 
away  in  the  heart  of  Austria,  five  hundred  miles  from  our  Frank- 
fort home,  seems  irresistibly  laughable.  By  allowing  twenty 
days  for  the  journey,  we  shall  have  half  a  florin  a  day,  to  travel 
on.  This  is  a  homceopathic  allowance,  indeed,  but  we  have  con- 
cluded to  try  it,  So  now  adieu,  Vienna  !  In  two  hours  we  shall 
be  among  the  lulls  agai» 


THE  DANUBE.  17J 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


UP    THE    DANUBE. 


We  passed  ou.  of  Vienna  in  the  face  of  one  of  the  strongest 
winds  it  was  ever  my  lot  to  encounter.  It  swept  across  the  plain 
with  such  force  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  advance  till  wo 
got  under  the  lee  of  a  range  of  hills.  About  two  miles  from  the 
barrier  we  passed  Schoenbrunn,  the  Austrian  Versailles.  It  was 
built  by  the  Empress  Maria  Theresa,  and  was  the  residence  of 
Napoleon  in  1809,  when  Vienna  was  in  the  hands  of  the  French. 
Later,  in  1832,  the  Duke  of  Reichstadt  died  in  the  same  room 
which  his  father  once  occupied.  Behind  the  palace  is  a  magnifi- 
cent garden,  at  the  foot  of  a  hill  covered  with  rich  forests  and 
crowned  with  an  open  pillared  hall,  300  feet  long,  called  the 
Gloriette.  The  colossal  eagle  which  surmounts  it,  can  be  seen 
a  great  distance. 

The  lovely  valley  in  which  Schoenbrunn  lies,  follows  the 
course  of  the  little  river  Vienna  into  the  heart  of  that  mountain 
region  lying  between  the  Styrian  Alps  and  the  Danube,  and 
called  the  Vienna  Forest.  Into  this  our  road  led,  between  hills 
covered  with  wood,  with  here  and  there  a  lovely  green  meadow, 
where  herds  of  cattle  were  grazing.  The  third  day  we  came  to 
the  Danube  again  at  Melk,  a  little  city  built  under  the  edge  of  a 
steep  hill,  on  whose  summit  stands  the  palace-like  abbey  of  the 
Benedictine  Monks.  The  old  friars  must  have  had  a  merry  life 
of  it,  for  the  wine-cellar  of  the  abbey  furnished  the  French  army 
50,000  measures  for  several  days  in  succession.  The  shores  of 
the  Danube  here  are  extremely  beautiful.  The  valley  where  it 
spreads  out,  is  filled  with  groves,  but  where  the  hills  approach 
the  stream,  its  banks  are  rocky  and  precipitous,  like  the  Rhine. 
Although  not  so  picturesque  as  the  latter  river,  the  scenery  of  the 
Danube  is  on  a  grander  scale.     On  the  south  side  the  mountains 


112  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


bend  down  to  it  with  a  majestic  sweep,  and  there  must  be 
delightful  glances  into  the  valleys  that  lie  between,  in  passing 
down  the  current. 

But  we  soon  left  the  river,  and  journeyed  on  through  the  en- 
chanting inland  vales.  To  give  an  idea  of  the  glorious  enjoy- 
ment of  traveling  through  such  scenes,  let  me  copy  a  leaf  out  of 
my  journal,  written  as  we  rested  at  noon  on  the  top  of  a  lofty 
hill : — "  Here,  while  the  delightful  mountain  breeze  that  comes 
fresh  from  the  Alps  cools  my  forehead,  and  the  pines  around  are 
sighing  their  eternal  anthem,  I  seize  a  few  moments  to  tell  what 
a  paradise  is  around  me.  1  have  felt  an  elevation  of  mind  and 
spirit,  a  perfect  rapture  from  morning  till  night,  since  we  left 
Vienna.  It  is  the  brightest  and  balmiest  June  weather;  an  ever 
fresh  breeze  sings  through  the  trees  and  waves  the  ripening  grain 
on  the  verdant  meadows  and  hill-slopes.  The  air  is  filled  with 
bird-music.  The  larks  sing  above  us  out  of  sight,  the  bull- 
finch wakes  his  notes  in  the  grove,  and  at  eve  the  nightingale 
pours  forth  her  thrilling  strain.  The  meadows  are  literally  cov- 
ered with  flowers — beautiful  purple  salvias,  pinks  such  as  we 
have  at  home  in  our  gardens  and  glowing  buttercups,  color  the 
banks  of  every  stream.  1  never  saw  richer  or  more  luxuriant 
foliage.  Magnificent  forests  clothe  the  hills,  and  the  villages  are 
imbedded  in  fruit  trees,  shrubbery  and  flowers.  Sometimes  we 
go  for  miles  through  some  enchanting  valley,  lying  like  a  para- 
dise between  the  mountains,  while  the  distant,  white  Alps  look  on 
it  from  afar ;  sometimes  over  swelling  ranges  of  hills,  where  we 
can  see  to  the  right  the  valley  of  the  Danube,  threaded  by 
his  silver  current  and  dotted  with  white  cottages  and  glittering 
spires,  and  farther  beyond,  the  blue  mountains  of  the  Bohemian 
Forest.  To  the  left,  the  range  of  the  Styrian  Alps  stretches 
along  the  sky,  summit  above  summit,  the* farther  ones  robed  in 
perpetual  snow.  I  could  never  tire  gazing  on  those  glorious 
hills.  They  fill  the  soul  with  a  conception  of  sublimity,  such  as 
one  feels  when  listening  to  triumphal  music.  They  seem  like 
the  marble  domes  of  a  mighty  range  of  temples,  where  eartli 
worships  her  Maker  with  an  organ-anthem  of  storms  ! 

"  There  is  a  luxury  in  traveling  here.     We  walk  all  day  through 
such  scenes,  resting  often   in  the  shade  of  the   fruit  trees  which 


BOHEMIAN  GIPSIES.  173 


line  the  road,  or  on  a  mossy  bank  by  the  side  of  some  cool  forest. 
Sometimes  for  enjoyment  as  well  as  variety,  we  make  our  dining- 
place  by  a  clear  spring  instead  of  within  a  smoky  tavern  ;  and 
our -simple  meals  have  a  relish  an  epicure  could  never  attain. 
Away  with  your  railroads  and  steamboats  and  mail-coaches,  or 
keep  them  for  those  who  have  no  eye  but  for  the  sordid  interests 
of  life  !  With  my  knapsack  and  pilgrim-staff,  I  ask  not  their 
aid.  If  a  mind  and  soul  full  of  rapture  with  beauty,  a  frame 
in  glowing  and  vigorous  health,  and  slumbers  unbroken  even  by 
dreams,  are  blessings  any  one  would  attain,  let  him  pedestrianize 
it  through  Lower  Austria  !" 

I  have  never  been  so  strongly  and  constantly  reminded  of 
America,  as  during  this  journey.  Perhaps  the  balmy  season,  the 
same  in  which  I  last  looked  upon  the  dear  scenes  of  home,  may 
have  its  effect;  but  there  is  besides  a  richness  in  the  forests  and 
waving  fields  of  grain,  a  wild  luxuriance  over  every  landscape, 
which  1  have  seen  nowhere  else  in  Europe.  The  large  farm 
houses,  buried  in  orchards,  scattered  over  the  valleys,  add  to  the 
effect.     Everything  seems  to  speak  of  happiness  and  prosperity. 

We  were  met  one  morning  by  a  band  of  wandering  Bohemian 
gipsies — the  first  of  the  kind  I  ever  saw.  A  young  woman  with 
a  small  child  in  her  arms  came  directly  up  to  me,  and  looking 
full  in  my  face  with  her  wild  black  eyes,  said,  without  any  pre- 
face:  "Yes,  he  too  has  met  with  sorrow  and  trouble  already, 
and  will  still  have  more.  But  he  is  not  false — he  is  true  and 
sincere,  and  will  also  meet  with  good  luck!"  She  said  she  could 
tell  me  three  numbers  with  which  I  should  buy  a  lottery  ticket 
and  win  a  great  prize.  I  told  her  I  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  lottery,  and  would  buy  no  ticket,  but  she  persisted,  say- 
iqg  :  "  Has  he  a  twenty  kreutzer  piece  ? — will  he  give  it  ?  Lay 
it  in  his  hand  and  make  a  cross  over  it,  and  I  will  reveal  the 
numbers !"  On  my  refusal,  she  became  angry,  and  left  me,  say- 
ing :  "  Let  him  take  care — the  third  day  something  will  happen 
to  him  !"  An  old,  wrinkled  hag  made  the  same  proposition  to 
my  companion  with  no  better  success.  They  reminded  me  stri- 
kingly of  our  Indians ;  their  complexion  is  a  dark  brown,  and 
their  eyes  and  hair  are  black  as  night.     These  belonged  to  a 

7 


174  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


small  tribe  who  wander  through  the  forests  of  Bohemia,  and  sup- 
port themselves  by  cheating  and  stealing. 

We  stopped  the  fourth  night  at  Enns,  a  small  city  on  the  river 
of  the  same  name,  which  divides  Upper  from  Lower  Austria. 
After  leaving  the  beautiful  little  village  where  we  passed  the 
night  before,  the  road  ascended  one  of  those  long  ranges  of  hills, 
which  stretch  off  from  the  Danube  towards  the  Alps.  We  walked 
for  miles  over  the  broad  and  uneven  summit,  enjoying  the  en- 
chanting view  which  opened  on  both  sides.  If  we  looked  to  the 
right,  we  could  trace  the  windings  of  the  Danube  for  twenty  miles, 
his  current  filled  with  green,  wooded  islands ;  white  cities  lie  at 
the  foot  of  the  hills,  which,  covered  to  the  summit  with  grain-fields 
and  vineyards,  extended  back  one  behind  another,  till  the  farthest 
were  lost  in  the  distance.  I  was  glad  we  had  taken  the  way 
from  Vienna  to  Linz  by  land,  for  from  the  heights  we  had  a  view 
of  the  whole  course  of  the  Danube,  enjoying  besides,  the  beauty 
of  the  inland  vales  and  the  far-off  Styrian  Alps.  From  the  hills 
we  passed  over  we  could  see  the  snowy  range  as  far  as  the  Alps 
of  Salzburg — some  of  them  seemed  robed  to  the  very  base  in 
their  white  mantles.  In  the  morning  the  glaciers  on  their  sum- 
mit glittered  like  stars  ;  it  was  the  first  time  I  saw  the  sun  re- 
flected at  a  hundred  miles'  distance  ! 

On  descending  we  came  into  a  garden-like  plain,  over  which 
rose  the  towers  of  Enns,  built  by  the  ransom  money  paid  to  Aus- 
tria for  the  deliverance  of  the  Lion-hearted  Richard.  The  coun- 
try legends  say  that  St.  Florian  was  thrown  into  the  river  by  the 
Romans  in  the  third  century,  with  a  millstone  around  his  neck, 
which,  however,  held  him  above  the  water  like  cork,  until  he  had 
finished  preaching  them  a  sermon.  In  the  villages  we  often  saw 
his  image  painted  on  the  houses,  in  the  act  of  pouring  a  pail  of 
water  on  a  burning  building,  with  the  inscription  beneath — "  Oh, 
holy  Florian,  pray  for  us!"  This  was  supposed  to  be  a  charm 
against  fire.  In  Upper  Austria,  it  is  customary  to  erect  a  shrine 
on  the  road,  wherever  an  accident  has  happened,  with  a  painting 
and  description  of  it,  and  an  admonition  to  all  passers-by  to  pray 
for  the  soul  of  the  unfortunate  person.  On  one  of  them,  for  in- 
stance, was  a  cart  with  a  wild  ox,  wliich  a  man  was  holding  by 
the  horns ;  a  woman  kneeling  by  the  wheels  appeared  to  be  draw- 


LINZ.  175 

ing  a  little  girl  by  the  feet  from  under  it,  and  the  inscription  stated  : 
*'  By  calling  on  Jesus,  Mary  and  Joseph,  the  girl  was  happily  res- 
cued." Many  of  the  shrines  had  images  which  the  people  no 
doubt,  in  their  ignorance  and  simplicity,  considered  holy,  but  they 
were  to  us  impious  and  almost  blasphemous. 

From  Enns  a  morning's  walk  brought  us  to  Linz.  The  peas- 
ant girls  in  their  broad  straw  hats  were  weeding  the  young  wheat, 
looking  as  cheerful  and  contented  as  the  larks  that  sung  above 
them.  A  mile  or  two  from  Linz  we  passed  one  or  two  of  the 
round  towers  belonging  to  the  new  fortifications  of  the  city.  As 
walls  have  grown  out  of  fashion,  Duke  Maximilian  substituted  an 
invention  of  his  own.  The  city  is  surrounded  by  thirty-two  tow- 
ers,  one  to  three  miles  distant  from  it,  and  so  placed  that  they 
form  a  complete  line  of  communication  and  defence.  They  are 
sunk  in  the  earth,  surrounded  with  a  ditch  and  embankments,  and 
each  is  capable  of  containing  ten  cannon  and  three  hundred  men. 
The  pointed  roofs  of  these  towers  are  seen  on  all  the  hills  around. 
We  were  obliged  to  give  up  our  passports  at  the  barrier,  the  offi- 
cer telling  us  to  call  for  them  in  three  hours  at  the  City  Police 
Office  ;  we  spent  the  intervening  time  very  agreeably  in  rambling 
through  this  gay,  cheerful-looking  town.  With  its  gilded  spires 
and  ornamented  houses,  with  their  green  lattice-blinds,  it  reminds 
one  strongly  of  Italy,  or  at  least  of  what  Italy  is  said  to  be.  It 
has  now  quite  an  active  and  business-like  aspect,  occasioned  by 
the  steamboat  and  railroad  lines  which  connect  it  with  Vienna, 
Prague,  Ratisbon  and  Salzburg.  Although  we  had  not  exceeded 
our  daily  allowance  by  more  than  a  few  kreutzers,  we  found  that 
twenty  days  would  be  hardly  sufficient  to  accomplish  the  journey, 
and  our  funds  must  therefore  be  replenished.  Accordingly  I 
wrote  from  Linz  to  Frankfort,  directing  a  small  sum  to  be  for- 
warded to  Munich,  which  city  we  hoped  to  reach  in  eight  days. 

We  took  the  horse  cars  at  Linz  for  Lambach,  seventeen  miles 
on  the  way  towards  Gmunden.  The  mountains  were  covered 
with  clouds  as  we  approached  them,  and  the  storms  they  had 
been  brewing  for  two  or  three  days  began  to  march  down  on  the 
plain.  They  had  nearly  reached  us,  when  we  crossed  the  Traun 
and  arrived  at  Lambach,  a  small  city  built  upon  a  hill.  We 
left  the  next  day  at  noon,  and  on  ascending  the  hill  after  crossing 


176  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  Traun,  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  portrait  on  the 
Traunstein.  of  which  the  aid  landlord  told  us.  I  saw  it  at  the 
first  glance — certainly  it  is  a  most  remarkable  freak  of  na- 
ture. The  rough  back  of  the  mountain  forms  the  exact  profile 
of  the  human  countenance,  as  if  regularly  hewn  out  of  the  rock. 
What  is  still  more  singular,  it  is  said  to  be  a  correct  portrait  ot 
the  unfortunate  Louis  XVI.  The  landlord  said  it  was  immedi- 
ately recognized  by  all  Frenchmen.  The  road  followed  the 
course  of  the  Traun,  whose  green  waters  roared  at  the  bottom  of 
the  glen  below  us ;  we  walked  for  several  miles  through  a  fine 
forest,  through  whose  openings  we  caught  glimpses  of  the  moun 
tains  we  longed  to  reach. 

The  river  roared  at  last  somewhat  louder,  and  on  looking  down 
the  bank,  I  saw  rocks  and  rapids,  and  a  few  houses  built  on  the 
edge  of  the  stream.  Thinking  it  must  be  near  the  fall,  we  went 
down  the  path,  and  lo  !  on  crossing  a  little  wooden  bridge,  the 
whole  affair  burst  in  sight !  Judge  of  our  surprise  at  finding  a 
fall  of  fifteen  feet,  after  we  had  been  led  to  expect  a  tremendous 
leap  of  forty  or  fifty,  with  all  the  accompaniment  of  rocks  and 
precipices.  Of  course  the  whole  descent  of  the  river  at  the  place 
was  much  greater,  and  there  were  some  romantic  cascades  over 
the  rocks  which  blocked  its  course.  Its  greatest  beauty  consisted 
in  the  color  of  the  water — the  brilliant  green  of  the  waves  being 
broken  into  foam  of  the  most  dazzling  white — and  the  great  force 
with  which  it  is  thrown  below. 

The  Traunstein  grew  higher  as  we  approached,  presenting  the 
same  profile  till  we  had  nearly  reached  Gmunden.  From  the 
green  upland  meadows  above  the  town,  the  view  of  the  mountain 
range  was  glorious,  and  I  could  easily  conceive  tlie  effect  of  the 
Unknown  Student's  appeal  to  the  people  to  fight  for  those  free 
hills.  I  think  it  is  Howitt  who  relates  the  incident — one  of  the 
most  romantic  in  German  history.  Count  Pappenheim  led  his 
forces  here  in  the  year  1626,  to  suppress  a  revolution  of  the  peo- 
ple of  the  whole  Salzburg;  region,  who  had  risen  against  an  inva- 
sion of  their  rights  by  the  Austrian  government.  The  battle 
which  took  place  on  these  meadows  was  about  being  decided  in 
favor  of  the  oppressors,  when  a  young  man,  clad  as  a  student, 
suddenly  appeared  and  addressed  the  people,  pointing  to  the  Alps 


THE   UNKNOWN  STUDENT 


aoove  them  and  the  sweet  lake  below,  and  asking  if  that  land 

should  not  be  free.     The  effect  was  electrical ;  they  returned  to 

the  charge  and  drove  back  the  troops  of  Pappenheim,  who  were 

about  taking  to  flight,  when  the  unknown  leader  fell,  mortally 

wounded.     This  struck  a  sudden  panic  through  his  followers,  and 

the  Austrians  turning  again,  gained  a  complete  victory.     But  the 

name  of  the  brave  student  is  unknown,  his  deed  unsung  by  his 

country's  bards,  and  almost  forgotten. 

9=.c 


17&  VIEWS  A-FOOT 


CHAPTER    XXIV 


THE    UNKNOWN    STUDENT. 

Ha  !  spears  on  Gmunden's  meadows  green, 

And  banners  on  the  wood-crowned  height ! 
Rank  after  rank,  their  helmets'  sheen 

Sends  back  the  morning  light ! 
Where  late  the  mountain  maiden  sang, 
The  battle-trumpet's  brazen  clang 

Vibrates  along  the  air ; 
And  wild  dragoons  wheel  o'er  the  plain, 
Trampling  to  earth  the  yellow  grain, 
From  which  no  more  the  merry  swain 

His  harvest  sheaves  shall  bear. 

The  eagle,  in  his  sweep  at  morn, 

To  meet  the  monarch-sun  on  high, 
Heard  the  unwonted  warrior's  horn 

Peal  faintly  up  the  sky ! 
He  saw  the  foemen,  moving  slow 
In  serried  legions,  far  below, 

Against  that  peasant-band. 
Who  dared  to  break  the  tyrant's  thrall 
And  by  the  sword  of  Austria  fall. 
Or  keep  the  ancient  Right  of  all, 

Held  by  their  mountain-land  I 

They  came  to  meet  that  mail-clad  host 

From  glen  and  wood  and  ripening  field ; 
A  brave,  stout  arm,  each  man  could  boast— 

A  soul,  unused  to  yield ! 
They  met :  a  shout,  prolonged  and  loud, 
Went  hovering  upward  with  the  cloud 

That  closed  around  them  dun  ; 
Blade  upon  blade  unceasing  clashed. 
Spears  in  the  onset  shivering  crashed, 
And  the  red  glare  of  cannon  flashed 

Athwart  the  smoky  sun  ! 


THE   UNKNOWN  STUDENT. 


The  mountain  warriors  wavered  back, 

Borne  down  by  myriads  of  the  foe, 
Like  pines  before  the  torrent's  track 

When  spring  has  warmed  the  snow. 
Shall  Faith  and  Freedom  vainly  call, 
And  Gmunden's  warrior-herdsmen  fall 

On  the  red  field  in  vain  ? 
No  !  from  the  throng  that  back  retired, 
A  student  boy  sprang  forth  inspired, 
And  while  his  words  their  bosoms  fired, 

Led  on  the  charge  again  ! 

"  And  thus  your  free  arms  would  ye  give 

So  tamelj^  to  a  tyrant's  band. 
And  with  the  hearts  of  vassals  live 

In  this,  your  chainless  land  ? 
The  emerald  lake  is  spread  below, 
And  tower  above,  the  hills  of  snow — 

Here,  field  and  forest  lie ; 
This  land,  so  glorious  and  so  free — 
Say,  shall  it  crushed  and  trodden  be  ? 
Say,  would  ye  rather  bend  the  knee 

Than  for  its  freedom  die  ? 

"  Look !  yonder  stand  in  mid-day's  glare 

The  everlasting  Alps  of  snow, 
And  from  their  peaks  a  purer  air 

Breathes  o'er  the  vales  below  ! 
The  Traunstein's  brow  is  bent  in  pride- 
He  brooks  no  craven  on  his  side — 

Would  ye  be  fettered  then  ? 
There  lifts  the  Sonnenstein  his  head, 
There  chafes  the  Traun  his  rocky  bed 
And  Aurach's  lovely  vale  is  spread — 

Look  on  them  and  be  men  ! 

*'  Let,  like  a  trumpet's  sound  of  fire, 

These  stir  your  souls  to  manhood's  part 
The  glory  of  the  Alps  inspire 

Each  yet  unconquered  heart ! 
For,  through  their  unpolluted  air 
Soars  fresher  up  the  grateful  prayer 
From  freemen,  unto  God  ; — 


*.0  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


A  blessing  on  those  mountains  old ! 
On  to  the  combat,  brethren  bold ! 
Strike,  that  ye  free  the  valleys  hold, 
Where  free  your  fathers  trod  !" 

And  like  a  mighty  storm  that  tears 

The  icy  avalanche  from  its  bed, 
They  rushed  against  th'  opposing  spears — 

The  student  at  their  head  ! 
The  bands  of  Austria  fought  in  vain  ; 
A  bloodier  harvest  heaped  the  plain 

At  every  charge  they  made ; 
Each  herdsman  was  a  hero  then — 
The  mountain  hunters  stood  like  men, 
And  echoed  from  the  farthest  glen 

The  clash  of  blade  on  blade ! 

The  banner  in  the  student's  hand 

Waved  triumph  from  the  fight  before  ; 
What  terror  seized  the  conq'ring  band  ? — 

It  fell,  to  rise  no  more  ! 
And  with  it  died  the  lofty  flame, 
That  from  his  lips  in  lightning  came 

And  burned  upon  their  own  ; 
Dread  Pappenheim  led  back  the  foe, 
The  mountain  peasants  yielded  slow. 
And  plain  above  and  lake  below 

Were  red  when  evening  shone  ! 

Now  many  a  year  has  passed  away 

Since  battle's  blast  rolled  o'er  the  plain, 
The  Alps  are  bright  in  morning's  ray — 

The  Traunstein  smiles  again. 
But  underneath  the  flowery  sod, 
By  happy  peasant  children  trod, 

A  hero's  ashes  lay. 
O'er  him  no  grateful  nation  wept, 
Fame,  of  his  deed  no  record  kept, 
And  dull  Forgetfulness  hath  swept 

His  very  name  away ! 

^■r  (Btiany  a  grave,  by  poets  sung. 
There  falls  to  dust  a  lofty  brow, 

But  he  alone,  the  brave  and  young, 
Sleeps  there  forgotten  now. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STUDENT.  191 

The  Alps  upon  that  field  look  down, 
Which  won  his  bright  and  brief  renown, 

Beside  the  lake's  green  shore  ; 
Still  wears  the  land  a  tyrant's  chain^ 
Still  bondmen  tread  the  battle-plain, 
Called  by  his  glorious  soul  in  vain  _ 

To  win  their  rights  of  yore. 


162  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 


THE    AUSTRIAN    ALPS. 


It  was  nearly  dark  when  we  came  to  the  end  of  the  plain  and 
looked  on  the  city  at  our  feet  and  the  lovely  lake  that  lost  itself 
in  the  mountains  before  us.  We  were  early  on  board  the  steam- 
boat next  morning,  with  a  cloudless  sky  above  us  and  a  snow- 
crested  Alp  beckoning  on  from  the  end  of  the  lake.  The  water 
was  of  the  most  beautiful  green  hue,  the  morning  light  colored 
the  peaks  around  with  purple,  and  a  misty  veil  rolled  up  the  rocks 
of  the  Traunstein.  We  stood  on  the  prow  and  enjoyed  to  the 
fullest  extent  the  enchanting  scenery.  The  white  houses  of 
Gmunden  sank  down  to  the  water's  edge  like  a  flock  of  ducks ; 
half-way  we  passed  castle  Ort,  on  a  rock  in  the  lake,  whose  sum- 
mit is  covered  with  trees. 

As  we  neared  the  otlier  extremity,  the  mountains  became 
steeper  and  loftier ;  there  was  no  path  along  their  wild  sides,  nor 
even  a  fisher's  hut  nestled  at  their  feet,  and  the  snow  filled  the 
ravines  more  than  half-way  from  the  summit.  An  hour  and  a 
quarter  brought  us  to  Ebensee,  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  where 
we  landed  and  plodded  on  towards  Ischl,  following  the  Traun  up 
a  narrow  valley,  whose  mountain-walls  shut  out  more  than  half 
the  sky.  They  are  covered  with  forests,  and  the  country  is  in- 
habited entirely  by  the  woodmen  who  fell  the  mountain  pines  and 
float  the  timber  rafts  down  to  the  Danube.  The  steeps  are  marked 
with  white  lines,  where  the  trees  have  been  rolled,  or  rather 
thrown  from  the  summit.  Often  they  descend  several  miles  over 
rocks  and  precipices,  where  the  least  deviation  from  the  track 
would  dash  them  in  a  thousand  pieces.  This  generally  takes 
place  in  the  winter  when  the  sides  are  covered  with  snow  and 
ice.  It  must  be  a  dangerous  business,  for  there  are  many  crosses 
by  the  way-side  where  the  pictures  represent  persons  accidentally 


ST.  WOLFGANG.  18J 


killed  by  the  trees  ;  an  additional  painting  represents  them  as 
burning  in  the  flames  of  purgatory,  and  the  pious  traveler  is  re- 
quested to  pray  an  Ave  or  a  Paternoster  for  the  repose  of  their 
souls. 

On  we  went,  up  the  valley  of  the  Traun,  between  mountains 
five  and  six  thousand  feet  high,  through  scenes  constantly  chang- 
ing and  constantly  grand,  for  three  or  four  hours.  Finally  the 
hills  opened,  disclosing  a  little  triangular  valley,  whose  base  was 
formed  by  a  mighty  mountain  covered  with  clouds.  Through 
the  two  side-angles  came  the  Traun  and  his  tributary  the  Ischl, 
while  the  little  town  of  Ischl  lay  in  the  centre.  Within  a  few 
years  this  has  become  a  very  fashionable  bathing- place,  and  the 
influx  of  rich  visitors,  which  in  the  summer  sometimes  amounts 
to  two  thousand,  has  entirely  destroyed  the  primitive  simplicity 
the  inhabitants  originally  possessed.  From  Ischl  we  took  a  road 
through  the  forests  to  St.  Wolfgang,  on  the  lake  of  the  same  name. 
The  last  part  of  the  way  led  along  the  banks  of  the  lake,  disclos- 
ing some  delicious  views.  These  Alpine  lakes  surpass  any 
scenery  I  have  yet  seen.  The  water  is  of  the  most  beautiful 
green,  like  a  sheet  of  molten  beryl,  and  the  cloud-piercing  moun- 
tains that  encompass  them  shut  out  the  sun  for  nearly  half  the 
day.  St.  Wolfgang  is  a  lovely  village  in  a  cool  and  quiet  nook 
at  the  foot  of  the  Schafberg.  The  houses  are  built  in  the  pictur- 
esque Swiss  style,  with  flat,  projecting  roofs  and  ornamented  bal- 
conies,  and  the  people  are  the  very  picture  of  neatness  and  cheer- 
fulness. 

We  started  next  morning  to  ascend  the  Schafberg,  which  is 
called  the  Righi  of  the  Austrian  Switzerland.  It  is  somewhat 
higher  than  its  Swiss  namesake,  and  commands  a  prospect  scarcely 
less  extensive  or  grand.  We  followed  a  footpath  through  the 
thick  forest  by  the  side  of  a  roaring  torrent.  The  morning  mist 
still  covered  the  lake,  but  the  white  summits  of  the  Salzburg  and 
Noric  Alps  opposite  us,  rose  above  it  and  stood  pure  and  bright  in 
the  upper  air.  We  passed  a  little  mill  and  one  or  two  cottages, 
and  then  wound  round  one  of  the  lesser  heights  into  a  deep  ravine, 
down  in  whose  dark  shadow  we  sometimes  heard  the  axe  and  saw 
of  the  mountain  woodmen.  Finally  the  path  disappeared  altogether 
under  a  mass  of  logs  and   rocks,   which   appeared  to  have   been 


184  VIEWS  A-I^OOT. 


whirled  together  by  a  sudden  flood.  We  deliberated  what  to  do; 
the  summit  rose  several  thousand  feet  above  us,  almost  precipi- 
tously steep,  but  we  did  not  like  to  turn  back,  and  there  was  still 
a  hope  of  meeting  with  the  path  again.  Clambering  over  the 
ruins  and  rubbish  we  pulled  ourselves  by  the  limbs  of  trees  up  a 
steep  ascent  and  descended  again  to  the  stream.  We  here  saw 
the  ravine  was  closed  by  a  wall  of  rock  and  our  only  chance  was 
to  cross  to  the  west  side  of  the  mountain,  where  the  ascent  seemed 
somewhat  easier.  A  couple  of  mountain  maidens  whom  we  for- 
tunately met,  carrying  home  grass  for  their  goats,  told  us  the 
mountain  could  be  ascended  on  that  side,  by  one  who  could  climb 
well — laying  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  word.  The  very  doubt 
implied  in  this  expression  was  enough  to  decide  us ;  so  we  began 
the  work.  And  work  it  was,  too  !  The  side  was  very  steep,  the 
trees  all  leaned  downwards,  and  we  slipped  at  every  step  on  the 
dry  leaves  and  grass.  After  making  a  short  distance  this  way 
with  the  greatest  labor,  we  came  to  the  track  of  an  avalanche, 
which  had  swept  away  the  trees  and  earth.  Here  the  rock  had 
been  worn  rough  by  torrents,  but  by  using  both  hands  and  feet, 
we  clomb  directly  up  the  side  of  the  mountain,  sometimes  drag- 
ging ourselves  up  by  the  branches  of  trees  where  the  rocks  were 
smooth.  After  half  an  hour  of  such  work  we  came  above  the 
forests,  on  the  bare  side  of  the  mountain.  The  summit  was  far 
above  us  and  so  steep  that  our  limbs  involuntarily  shrunk  from 
the  task  of  climbing.  The  side  ran  up  at  an  angle  of  nearly 
sixty  degrees,  and  the  least  slip  threw  us  flat  on  our  faces.  We 
had  to  use  both  hand  and  foot,  and  were  obliged  to  rest  every  few 
minutes  to  recover  breath.  Crimson-flowered  moss  and  bright 
blue  gentians  covered  the  rocks,  and  I  filled  my  books  with  blos- 
soms for  friends  at  home. 

Up  and  up,  for  what  seemed  an  age,  we  clambered.  So  steep 
was  it,  that  the  least  rocky  projection  hid  my  friend  from  sight,  as 
he  was  coming  up  below  me.  I  let  stones  roll  sometimes,  which 
went  down,  down,  almost  like  a  cannon-ball,  till  I  could  see  them 
no  more.  At  length  we  reached  the  region  of  dwarf  pines,  which 
was  even  more  difliicult  to  pass  through.*  Although  the  mountain 
was  not  so  steep,  this  forest,  centuries  old,  reached  no  higher  than 
our  breasts,  and  the  trees  leaned  downwards,  so  that  we  were 


SUMMIT  OF  THE  SCHAFBERG.  1S5 

obliged  to  take  hold  of  the  tops  of  those  above  us,  and  drag  our- 
selves up  through  the  others.  Here  and  there  lay  large  patches 
of  snow  ;  we  sat  down  in  the  glowing  June  sun,  and  bathed  our 
hands  and  faces  in  it.  Finally  the  sky  became  bluer  and  broader, 
the  clouds  seemed  nearer,  and  a  few  more  steps  through  the 
bushes  brought  us  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  on  the  edge  of 
a  precipice  a  thousand  feet  deep,  whose  bottom  stood  in  a  vast 
field  of  snow  ! 

We  lay  down  on  the  heather,  exhausted  by  five  hours'  inces- 
sant toil,  and  drank  in  like  a  refreshing  draught,  the  sublimity  of 
the  scene.  The  green  lakes  of  the  Salzburg  Alps  lay  far  below 
us,  and  the  whole  southern  horizon  was  filled  with  the  mighty 
range  of  the  Sty  nan  and  Noric  Alps,  their  summits  of  never-melt- 
ing snow  mingling  and  blending  with  the  clouds.  On  the  other 
side  the  mountains  of  Salzburg  lifted  their  ridgy  backs  from  the 
plains  of  Bavaria  and  the  Chiem  lake  lay  spread  out  in  the  blue 
distance.  A  line  of  mist  far  to  the  north  betrayed  the  path  of 
the  Danube,  and  beyond  it  we  could  barely  trace  the  outline  of 
the  Bohemian  mountains.  With  a  glass  the  spires  of  Munich, 
one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  distant,  can  be  seen.  It  was  a 
view  whose  grandeur  I  can  never  forget.  In  that  dome  of  the 
cloud  we  seemed  to  breathe  a  purer  air  than  that  of  earth. 

After  an  hour  or  two,  we  began  to  think  of  descending,  as  the 
path  was  yet  to  be  found.  The  summit,  which  was  a  mile  or 
more  in  length,  extended  farther  westward,  and  by  climbing  over 
the  dwarf  pines  for  some  time,  we  saw  a  little  wooden  house 
above  us.  It  stood  near  the  highest  part  of  the  peak,  and  two  or 
three  men  were  engaged  in  repairing  it,  as  a  shelter  for  travel- 
ers. They  pointed  out  the  path  which  went  down  on  the  side 
toward  St.  Gilgen,  and  we  began  descending.  The  mountain  on 
this  side  is  much  less  steep,  but  the  descent  is  fatiguing  enough. 
The  path  led  along  the  side  of  a  glen  where  mountain  goats  were 
grazing,  and  further  down  we  saw  cattle  feeding  on  the  little  spots 
of  verdure  which  lay  in  the  forest.  My  knees  became  so  weak 
from  this  continued  descent,  that  they  would  scarcely  support  me  ; 
but  we  were  three  hours,  partly  walking  and  partly  running 
down,  before  we  reached  the  bottom.    Half  an  hour's  walk  around 


186  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  head  of  the  St.  Wolfgang  See,  brought  us  to  the  little  village 
of  St.  Gilgen. 

The  valley  of  St.  Gilgen  lies  like  a  little  paradise  between  the 
mountains.  Lovely  green  fields  and  woods  slope  gradually  from 
the  mountain  behind,  to  the  still  greener  lake  spread  out  before  it, 
in  whose  bosom  the  white  Alps  are  mirrored.  Its  picturesque 
cottages  cluster  around  the  neat  church  with  its  lofty  spire,  and 
the  simple  inhabitants  have  countenances  as  bright  and  cheerful 
as  the  blue  sky  above  them.  We  breathed  an  air  of  poetry.  The 
Arcadian  simplicity  of  the  people,  the  pastoral  beauty  of  the  fields 
around  and  the  grandeur  of  the  mountains  which  shut  it  out  from 
the  world,  realized  my  ideas  of  a  dwelling-place,  where,  with  a 
few  kindred  spirits,  the  bliss  of  Eden  might  almost  be  I'estored. 

We  stopped  there  two  or  three  hours  to  relieve  our  hunger  and 
fatigue.  My  boots  had  suffered  severely  in  our  mountain  adven- 
ture, and  I  called  at  a  shoemaker's  cottage  to  get  ihem  repaired. 
I  sat  down  and  talked  for  half  an  hour  with  the  family.  The 
man  and  his  wife  spoke  of  the  delightful  scenery  around  them, 
and  expressed  themselves  with  correctness  and  •  even  elegance. 
They  were  much  pleased  that  I  admired  their  village  so  greatly, 
and  related  every  thing  which  they  supposed  could  interest  me. 
As  I  rose  to  go,  my  head  nearly  touched  the  ceiling,  which  was 
very  low.  The  man  exclaimed :  "  Ach  Gott !  how  tall !"  I 
told  him  the  people  were  all  tall  in  our  country ;  he  then  asked 
where  I  came  from,  and  I  had  no  sooner  said  America,  than  he 
threw  up  his  hands  and  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  the  greatest  sur- 
prise. His  wife  observed  that  "  it  was  wonderful  how  far  man 
was  permitted  to  travel."  They  wished  me  a  prosperous  journey 
and  a  safe  return  home. 

St.  Gilgen  was  also  interesting  to  me  from  that  beautiful  chap- 
ter in  "  Hyperion" — "  Footsteps  of  Angels," — and  on  passing  the 
church  on  my  way  back  to  the  inn,  I  entered  the  grave-yard 
mentioned  in  it.  The  green  turf  grows  thickly  over  the  rows  of 
mounds,  with  here  and  there  a  rose  planted  by  the  hand  of  affec- 
tion, and  the  white  crosses  were  hung  with  wreaths,  some  of 
which  had  been  freshly  laid  on.  Behind  the  church,  under  the 
shade  of  a  tree,  stood  a  small  chapel, — I  ooened  the  unfastened 


THE   VALLEY  OF   SALZBURG.  187 

door,  and  entered.  The  afternoon  sun  shone  through  the  side  win- 
dow, and  all  was  still  around.  A  little  shrine,  adorned  with  flow- 
ers, stood  at  the  other  end,  and  there  were  two  tablets  on  the  wall, 
to  persons  who  slumbered  beneath.  I  approached  these  and  read 
on  one  of  them  with  feelings  not  easily  described  :  "  Look  not 
mournfully  into  the  past — it  comes  not  again  ;  wisely  improve  the 
present — it  is  thine  ;  and  go  forward  to  meet  the  shadowy  future, 
without  fear,  and  with  a  manly  heart !"  This  then  was  the  spot 
where  l^aul  Flemming  came  in  loneliness  and  sorrow  to  muse 
over  what  he  had  lost,  and  these  were  the  words  whose  truth  and 
eloquence  strengthened  and  consoled  him,  "  as  if  the  unknown 
tenant  of  the  grave  had  opened  his  lips  of  dust  and  spoken  those 
words  of  consolation  his  soul  needed."  I  sat  down  and  mused  a 
long  time,  for  there  was  something  in  the  sitent  holiness  of  the 
spot,  that  impressed  me  more  than  I  could  well  describe. 

We  reached  a  little  village  on  the  Fuschel  See,  the  same 
evening,  and  set  off  the  next  morning  for  Salzburg.  The  day 
was  hot  and  we  walked  slowly,  so  that  it  was  not  till  two  o'clock 
that  we  saw  the  castellated  rocks  on  the  side  of  the  Gaissberff, 
guarding  the  entrance  to  the  valley  of  Salzburg.  A  short  dis- 
tance further,  the  whole  glorious  panorama  was  spread  out  below 
us.  From  the  height  on  which  we  stood,  we  looked  directly  on 
the  summit  of  the  Capuchin  Mountain,  which  hid  part  of  the  city 
from  sight  ;  the  double  peak  of  the  Staufen  rose  opposite,  and  a 
heavy  storm  was  raging  along  the  Alpine  heights  around  it,  while 
the  lovely  valley  lay  in  sunshine  below,  threaded  by  the  bright 
current  of  the  Salza.  As  we  descended  and  passed  around  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  the  Untersberg  came  in  sight,  whose  broad  sum- 
mits lift  themselves  seven  thousand  feet  above  the  plain.  The 
legend  says  that  Charlemagne  and  his  warriors  sit  in  its  subter- 
raneous caverns  in  complete  armoi',  and  that  they  will  arise  and 
come  forth  again,  when  Germany  recovers  her  former  power  and 
glory. 

I  wish  I  could  convey  in  words  some  idea  of  the  elevation  ot 
spirit  experienced  while  looking  on  these  eternal  mountains. 
Tliey  fill  the  soul  with  a  sensation  of  power  and  grandeur  which 
frees  it  awhile  from  the  cramps  and  fetters  of  common  life.  It 
rises  and  expands  to  the  level  of  their  sublimity,  till  its  thoughts 


188  VIEWS    A-FOOT. 


stand  solemnly  aloft,  like  their  summits,  piercing  the  free  hea- 
ven. Their  dazzling  and  imperishable  beauty  is  to  the  mind 
an  image  of  its  own  enduring  existence.  When  I  stand  upon 
some  snowy  summit — the  invisible  apex  of  that  mighty  pyramid 
— there  seems  a  majesty  in  my  weak  will  which  might  defy  the 
elements.  This  sense  of  power,  inspired  by  a  silent  sympathy 
with  the  forms  of  nature,  is  beautifully  described — as  shown  in 
the  free,  unconscious  instincts  of  childhood — by  the  poet  Uhland, 
in  his  ballad  of  the  "  Mountain  Boy."  I  have  attempted  a  trans- 
lation. 

THE  MOUNTAIN  BOY. 

A  herd-boy  on  tlie  mountain's  brow, 
I  see  the  castles  all  below. 
The  sunbeam  here  is  earliest  cast 
And  by  my  side  it  lingers  last — 
I  am  the  boy  of  the  mountain ! 

The  mother-house  of  streams  is  here — 
1  drink  them  in  their  cradles  clear  ; 
From  out  the  rock  they  foam  below, 
I  spring  to  catch  them  as  they  go  ! 
I  am  the  boy  of  the  mountain ! 

To  me  belongs  the  mountain's  bound, 
"Where  gathering  tempests  march  around ; 
But  though  from  north  and  south  they  shout, 
Above  them  still  my  song  rings  out — 
"  I  am  the  boy  of  the  mountain  !" 

Below  me  clouds  and  thunders  move  ; 
I  stand  amid  the  blue  above. 
I  shout  to  them  with  fearless  breast : 
"  Go,  leave  my  father's  house  in  rest  !'^ 
I  am  the  boy  of  the  mountain ! 

And  when  the  loud  bell  shakes  the  spires 
And  flame  aloft  the  signal-fires, 
I  go  below  and  join  the  throng 
And  swing  ray  sword  and  sing  my  song: 
"  I  am  the  boy  of  the  mountain  !" 

Salzburg  lies  on  both  sides  of  the  Salza,  hemmed  in  on  either 
hand  by  precipitous  mountains.  A  large  fortress  overlooks  it 
on  the  south,  from  the   summit  of  a  perpendicular  rock,  against 


ENTERING   BAVARIA.  189 

which  the  houses  in  that  part  of  the  city  are  built.  The  streets 
are  narrow  and  crooked,  but  the  newer  part  contains  many  open 
squares,  adorned  with  handsome  fountains.  The  variety  of  cos- 
tume among  the  people,  is  very  interesting.  The  inhabitants  of 
the  salt  district  have  a  peculiar  dress ;  the  women  wear  round 
fur  caps,  with  little  wings  of  gauze  at  the  side.  I  saw  other 
women  with  head-dresses  of  gold  or  silver  filagree,  something  in 
shdpe  like  a  Roman  helmet,  with  a  projection  at  the  back  of  the 
herd,  a  foot  long.  The  most  interesting  objects  in  Salzburg  to 
us,  were  the  house  of  Mozart,  in  which  the  composer  was  born, 
'and  the  monument  lately  erected  to  him.  The  St.  Peter's 
Church,  near  by,  contains  the  tomb  of  tiaydn,  the  great  compo- 
ser, and  the  Church  of  St.  Sebastian,  that  of  the  renowned  Para- 
celsus, who  was  also  a  native  of  Salzburg. 

Two  or  three  hours  sufficed  to  see  every  thing  of  interest  in 
the  city.  We  had  intended  to  go  further  through  the  Alps,  to 
the  beautiful  vales  of  the  Tyrol,  but  our  time  was  getting  short, 
our  boots,  which  are  the  pedestrian's  sole  dependence,  began  to 
show  symptoms  of  wearing  ouU  and  our  expenses  among  the 
lakes  and  mountains  of  Upper  Austria,  left  us  but  two  florins 
apiece,  so  we  reluctantly  turned  our  backs  upon  the  snowy  hills 
and  set  out  for  Munich,  nip^ety  miles  distant.  After  passing  the 
night  at  Saalbruck,  on  the  banks  of  the  stream  which  separates 
the  two  kingdoms,  we  entered  Bavaria  next  morning.  I  could 
not  help  feeling  glad  to  leave  Austria,  although  within  her  bounds 
I  had  passed  scenes  whose  beauty  will  long  haunt  me,  and  met 
with  many  honest  friendly  hearts  among  her  people.  We  noticed 
a  change  as  soon  as  we  had  crossed  the  border.  The  roads  were 
neater  and  handsomer,  and  the  country  people  greeted  us  in  going 
by,  with  a  friendly  cheerfulness  that  made  us  feel  half  at  home. 
The  houses  are  built  in  the  picturesque  Swiss  fashion,  their  bal- 
conies often  ornamented  with  curious  figures,  carved  in  wood. 
?vlany  of  them,  where  they  are  situated  remote  from  a  church, 
have  a  little  bell  on  the  roof  which  they  ring  for  morning  and 
evening  prayers ;  we  often  heard  these  simple  monitors  sound- 
ing from  the  cottages  as  we  passed   by. 

The  next  night  we  stopped  at  the  little  village  of  Stein,  famous 
in  former  times  for  its  robber-knight,  Hans  von  Stein.     The  ruins 


190  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


of  his  castle  stand  on  the  rock  above,  and  the  caverns  hewn  in 
the  sides  of  the  precipice,  where  he  used  to  confine  his  prisoners, 
are  still  visible.  Walking  on  through  a  pleasant,  well-cultivated 
country,  we  came  to  Wasserburg,  on  the  Inn.  The  situation  of 
the  city  is  peculiar.  The  Inn  has  gradually  worn  his  channel 
deeper  in  the  sandy  soil,  so  that  he  now  flows  at  the  bottom  of  a 
glen,  a  hundred  feet  below  the  plains  around.  Wasserburg  lies 
in  a  basin,  formed  by  the  change  of  the  current,  which  flows 
around  it  like  a  horse-shoe,  leaving  only  a  narrow  neck  of  land 
which  connects  it  with  the  country  above. 

We  left  the  little  village  where  we  were  quartered  for  the 
night  and  took  a  foot  path  which  led  across  the  country  to  the 
field  of  Hohenlinden,  about  six  miles  distant.  The  name  had 
been  familiar  to  me  from  childhood,  and  my  love  for  Campbell, 
with  the  recollection  of  the  school-exhibitions  where  "  On  Linden 
when  the  sun  was  low"  had  been  so  often  declaimed,  induced 
me  to  make  the  excursion  to  it.  We  traversed  a  large  forest, 
belonging  to  the  King  of  Bavaria,  and  came  out  on  a  plain 
covered  with  grain-fields  and  bounded  on  the  right  by  a  semi- 
circle of  low  hills.  Over  the  fields,  about  two  miles  distant,  a  tall, 
minaret-like  spire  rose  from  a  small  cluster  of  houses,  and  this 
was  Hohenlinden  !  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  been  expecting 
something  more.  The  "  hills  of  blood-stained  snow"  are  very 
small  hills  indeed,  and  the  "  Isar,  rolling  rapidly,"  is  several 
miles  ofT;  it  was  the  spot,  however,  and  we  recited  Campbell's 
poem,  of  course,  and  brought  away  a  iew  wild  flowers  as  me. 
morials.  There  is  no  monument  or  any  other  token  of  the  bat- 
tle, and  the  people  seem  to  endeavor  to  forget  the  scene  of 
Moreau's  victory  and  their  defeat. 

From  a  hill  twelve  miles  off  we  had  our  first  view  of  the 
spires  of  Munich,  looking  like  distant  ships  over  the  sea-like 
plain.  They  kept  in  sight  till  we  arrived  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  after  a  walk  of  more  than  thirty  miles.  We  crossed 
the  rapid  Isar  on  three  bridges,  entered  the  magnificent  Isar 
Gate,  and  were  soon  comfortably  quartered  in  the  heart  of 
Munich. 

Entering  the  city  without  knowing  a  siugle  soul  within  it,  we 
made  within  a  few  minutes  an  agreeable  acquaintance.     After  we 


ARRIVAL  AT   MUNICH.  191 

passed  the  Isar  Gate,  we  began  looking  for  a  decent  inn,  for  the 
day's  walk  was  very  fatiguing.  Presently  a  young  man,  who 
had  been  watching  us  for  some  time,  came  up  and  said,  if  we 
would  allow  him,  he  would  conduct  us  to  a  good  lodging-place. 
Finding  we  were  strangers,  he  expressed  the  greatest  regret  that 
he  had  not  time  to  go  with  us  every  day  around  the  city.  Our 
surprise  and  delight  at  the  splendor  of  Munich,  he  said,  would 
more  than  repay  him  for  the  trouble.  In  his  anxiety  to  show  us 
something,  he  took  us  some  distance  out  of  the  way,  (although  it 
was  growing  dark  and  we  were  very  tired,)  to  see  the  Palace  and 
the  Theatre,  with  its  front  of  rich  frescoes. 


SND   OF   PART     . 


MUNICH.  If  3 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


MUNICH. 

June  14. — I  thought  I  had  seen  every  thing  in  Vienna  that  could 
excite  admiration  or  gratify  fancy;  here  I  have  my  former  sensa- 
tions to  live  over  again,  in  an  augmented  degree.  It  is  well  1 
was  at  first  somewhat  prepared  by  our  previous  travel,  otherwise 
the  glare  and  splendor  of  Avealth  and  art  in  this  German  Athens 
might  blind  me  to  the  beauties  of  the  cities  we  shall  yet  visit. 
I  have  been  walking  in  a  dream  where  the  fairy  tales  of  boy- 
hood were  realized,  and  the  golden  and  jeweled  halls  of  the 
Eastern  genii  rose  glittering  around  me — "  a  vision  of  the  brain 
no  more."  All  1  had  conceived  of  oriental  magnificence,  all 
descriptions  of  the  splendor  of  kingly  halls  and  palaces,  fall  far 
.short  of  what  I  here  see.  Where  shall  I  bes^in  to  describe  the 
crowd  of  splendid  edifices  that  line  its  streets,  or  how  give  an 
idea  of  the  profusion  of  paintings  and  statues — of  marble,  jasper 
and  gold  ? 

Art  has  done  every  thing  for  Munich.  It  lies  on  a  larore,  flat 
plain,  sixteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  continually  exposed 
1o  the  cold  winds  from  the  Alps.  At  the  beginning  of  the  pres- 
ent century  it  was  but  a  third-rate  city,  and  was  rarely  visited 
by  foreigners.  Since  that  time  its  population  and  limits  have 
been  doubled,  and  magnificent  edifices  in  every  style  of  archi- 
tecture erected,  rendering  it  scarcely  secondary  in  this  respect  to 
any  capital  in  Europe.  Every  art  that  wealth  or  taste  could  de- 
vise, seems  to  have  been  spent  in  its  decoration.  Broad,  spacious 
streets  and  squares  have  been  laid  out,  churches,  halls  and  colle- 
ges erected,  and  schools  of  painting  and  sculpture  established, 
which  draw  artists  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  All  this  was 
principally  brought  about  by  the  taste  of  the  present  king, 
Ludwig  I.,  who  began   twenty  or  thirty  years  ago,  when  he  was 

10 


194  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Crown  Prince,  to  collect  the  best  German  artists  around  him  and 
form  plans  for  the  execution  of  his  grand  design.  He  can  boast 
of  having  done  more  for  the  arts  than  any  other  living  monarch, 
and  if  he  had  accomplished  it  all  without  oppressing  his  people, 
he  would  deserve  an  immortality  of  fame. 

Now,  if  you  have  nothing  else  to  do.  let  us  take  a  stroll  down 
the  Ludwigstrasse.  As  we  pass  the  Theatiner  Church,  with  its 
dome  and  towers,  the  broad  street  opens  before  us,  stretching 
away  to  the  north,  between  rows  of  magnificent  buildings.  Just 
at  this  southern  end,  is  the  Schlusshalle ,  an  open  temple  of  white 
marble  terminating  the  avenue.  To  the  right  of  us  extend  the 
arcades,  with  the  trees  of  the  Royal  Garden  peeping  above  them  ; 
on  the  left  is  the  spacious  concert  building  of  the  Odeon,  and  the 
palace  of  the  Duke  of  Leuchtenberg,  son  of  Eugene  Beauhar- 
nois.  Passing  through  a  row  of  palace-like  private  buildings, 
we  come  to  the  Army  Department,  on  the  right — a  neat  and 
tasteful  building  of  white  sandstone.  Beside  it  stands  the  Library, 
which  possesses  the  first  special  claim  on  our  admiration.  With 
its  splendid  front  of  five  hundred  and  eighteen  feet,  the  yellowish 
brown  cement  with  which  the  body  is  covered,  making  an  agree- 
able contrast  with  the  dark  red  window-arches  and  cornices,  and 
the  statues  of  Homer,  Hippocrates,  Thucydides  and  Aristotle 
guarding  the  portal,  is  it  not  a  worthy  receptacle  for  the  treasures 
of  ancient  and  modern  lore  which  its  halls  contain  ? 

Nearly  opposite  stands  the  Institute  for  the  Blind,  a  plain  but 
large  building  of  dark  red  brick,  covered  with  cement,  and  fur- 
ther, the  Ludwig's  Kirche,  or  Church  of  St.  Louis.  How  lightly 
the  two  square  towers  of  gray  marble  lift  their  network  of  sculp- 
ture !  And  what  a  novel  and  beautiful  effect  is  produced  by 
uniting  the  Byzantine  style  of  architecture  to  the  form  of  the 
Latin  cross  !  Over  the  arched  portal  stand  marble  statues  by 
Schwanthaler,  and  the  roof  of  brilliant  tiles  worked  into  mosaic, 
looks  like  a  rich  Turkey  carpet  covering  the  whole.  We  must 
enter  to  get  an  idea  of  the  splendor  of  this  church.  Instead  of  the 
pointed  arch  which  one  would  expect  to  see  meeting  above  his 
head,  the  lofty  pillars  on  each  side  bear  an  unbroken  semicircular 
vault,  which  is  painted  a  brilliant  blue,  and  spangled  with  silver 
stars.     These  pillars,  and  the  little  arches  above,  which  spring 


THE  SPLENDOR   OF   MUNICH.  195 

from  them,  are  painted  in  an  arabesque  style  with  gold  and  bril- 
liant  colors,  and  each  side-chapel  is  a  perfect  casket  of  richness 
and  elegance.  The  windows  are  of  silvered  glass,  through  which 
the  light  glimmers  softly  on  the  splendor  within.  The  whole  end 
of  the  church  behind  the  high  altar,  is  taken  up  with  Cornelius's 
celebrated  fresco  painting  of  the  "  Last  Judgment," — the  largest 
pointing  in  the  world — and  the  circular  dome  in  the  centre  of  the 
cross  contains  groups  of  martyrs,  prophets,  saints  and  kings, 
pa.'nted  in  fresco  on  a  ground  of  gold.  The  work  of  Cornelius 
has  been  greatly  praised  for  sublimity  of  design  and  beauty  of 
execution,  by  many  acknowledged  judges  ;  I  was  disappointed  in 
it.,  but  the  fault  lay  most  probably  in  me  and  not  in  the  painting. 
The  richness  and  elegance  of  the  church  took  me  all  "aback;" 
it  was  so  entirely  different  from  anything  I  had  seen,  that  it  was 
diliicult  to  decide  whether  1  was  most  charmed  by  its  novelty  or 
its  beauty.  Still,  as  a  building  designed  to  excite  feelings  of 
worship,  it  seems  to  me  inappropriate.  A  vast,  dim  Cathedral 
woald  be  far  preferable  ;  the  devout,  humble  heart  cannot  feel  at 
h'>me  amid  such  fflare  and  brio;htness. 

As  we  leave  the  church  and  walk  further  on,  the  street  expands 
suddenly  into  a  broad  square.  One  side  is  formed  by  the  new 
University  building  and  the  other  by  the  Royal  Seminary,  both 
dii^playing  in  their  architecture  new  forms  of  the  graceful  Byzan- 
tine  school,  which  the  architects  of  Munich  have  adapted  in  a 
striking  manner  to  so  many  varied  purposes.  On  each  side 
stands  a  splendid  colossal  fountain  of  bronze,  throwing  up  a  great 
mass  of  water,  which  falls  in  a  triple  cataract  to  the  marble  basin 
bb^ow.  A  short  distance  beyond  this  square  the  Ludwigstrasse 
terminates.  It  is  said  the  end  will  be  closed  by  a  magnificent 
ga.'e,  on  a  style  to  correspond  with  the  unequalled  avenue  to  which 
it  will  give  entrance.  To  one  standins;  at  the  southern  end,  it 
would  form  a  proper  termination  to  the  grand  vista.  Before  we 
leave,  turn  around  and  glance  back,  down  this  street,  which  ex- 
tends for  half  a  mile  between  such  buildings  as  we  have  just  view- 
ed, and  tell  me  if  it  is  not  somethino-  of  which  a  city  and  a  king 
may  boast,  to  have  created  all  this  within  less  than  twenty  years . 

We  went  one  morning  to  see  the  collection  of  paintings  formerly 
belonging  to  Eugene  Beauharnois,  who  was  brother-in-law  to  the 


196  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


present  king  of  Bavaria,  in  the  palace  of  his  son,  the  Dui^e  of 
Leuchtenberg.  The  first  hall  contains  works  principally  by- 
French  artists,  among  which  are  two  by  Gerard — a  beautiful 
portrait  of  Josephine,  and  the  blind  Belisarius  carrying  his  dead 
companion.  The  boy's  head  lies  on  the  old  man's  shoulder  ;  but 
for  the  livid  paleness  of  his  limbs,  he  would  seem  to  be  only 
asleep,  while  a  deep  and  settled  sorrow  marks  the  venerable  fea- 
tures of  the  unfortunate  Emperor.  In  the  middle  of  the  room 
are  six  pieces  of  statuary,  among  which  Canova's  world-renown- 
ed ^roup  of  the  Graces  at  once  attracts  the  eye.  There  is  also 
a  kneeling  Magdalen,  lovely  in  her  woe,  by  the  same  sculptor,  and 
a  very  touching  work  of  Schadow,  representing  a  shepherd  boy 
tenderly  binding  his  sash  around  a  lamb  which  he  has  acciden- 
tally wounded  with  his  arrow. 

We  have  since  seen  in  the  St.  Michael's  Church,  the  monu- 
ment to  Euo;ene  Beauharnois,  from  the  chisel  of  Thorvvald^en. 
The  noble,  manly  figure  of  the  son  of  Josephine  is  represented  in 
the  Roman  mantle,  with  his  helmet  and  sword  lying  on  the  ground 
by  him.  On  one  side  sits  History,  writing  on  a  tablet;  on  the 
other,  st^nd  the  two  brother-angels,  Death  and  Immortality. 
They  lean  lovingly  together,  with  arms  around  each  other,  but  the 
sweet  countenance  of  Death  has  a  cp^st  of  sorrow,  as  he  stands 
with  inverted  torch  and  a  wreath  of  poppies  among  his  clustering 
locks.  Immortality,  crowned  with  never-fading  flowers,  looks 
upwards  with  a  smile  of  triumph,  and  holds  in  one  hand  his 
blazing  torch.  It  is  a  beautiful  idea,  and  Thorwaldsen  has  made 
the  marble  eloquent  with  feeling. 

The  inside  of  the  square  formed  by  the  Arcades  and  the  New 
Residence,  is  filled  with  noble  old  trees,  which  in  summer  make  a 
leafy  roof  over  the  pleasant  walks.  In  the  middle,  stands  a  grotto, 
ornamented  with  rough  pebbles  and  shells,  and  only  needing  a 
fountain  to  make  it  a  perfect  hall  of  Neptune.  Passing  through 
the  northern  Arcade,  one  comes  mto  the  magnificent  park,  called 
the  English  Garden,  which  extends  more  than  four  miles  along 
the  bank  of  the  Isar,  several  branches  of  whose  milky  current 
wander  through  it,  and  form  one  or  two  pretty  cascades.  It  is  a 
beautiful  alternation  of  forest  and  meadow,  and  has  all  the  rich- 
ness and  garden-like  luxuriance  of  English  scenery.     Winding 


THE  NEW  RESIDENCE.  19/ 

walks  lead  along  the  Isar,  or  through  the  wood  of  venerable  oaks, 
and  sometimes  a  lawn  of  half  a  mile  in  length,  with  a  picturesque 
temple  at  its  farther  end,  comes  in  sight  through  the  trees.  1 
was  better  pleased  with  this  park  than  with  the  Prater  in  Vienna. 
Its  paths  are  always  filled  with  persons  enjoying  the  change  from 
the  dusty  streets  to  its  quiet  and  cool  retirement. 

The  New  Residence  is  not  only  one  of  the  wonders  of  Munich, 
but  of  the  world.  Although  commenced  in  1826  and  carried  on 
constantly  since  that  time  by  a  number  of  architects,  sculptors 
and  painters,  it  is  not  yet  finished  ;  if  art  were  not  inexhaustible 
it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  what  more  could  be  added.  The 
north  side  of  the  Max  Joseph  Platz  is  taken  up  by  its  front  of  four 
hundred  and  thirty  feet,  which  was  nine  years  in  building,  under 
the  direction  of  the  architect  Klenze.  The  exterior  is  copied 
after  the  Palazzo  Pitti,  in  Florence.  The  building  is  of  light 
brown  sandstone,  and  combines  an  elegance  and  even  splendor, 
with  the  most  chaste  and  classic  style.  The  northern  front,  which 
faces  on  the  Royal  Garden,  is  now  nearly  finished.  It  has  the 
enormous  length  of  eight  hundred  feet ;  in  the  middle  is  a  por- 
tico of  ten  Ionic  columns  ;  instead  of  supporting  a  triangular 
facade,  each  pillar  stands  separate  and  bears  a  marble  statue  from 
the  chisel  of  Schwanthaler. 

The  interior  of  the  building  does  not  disappoint  the  promise  of 
the  outside.  It  is  open  every  afternoon  in  the  absence  of  the 
king,  for  the  inspection  of  visitors  ;  fortunately  for  us,  his  majesty 
is  at  present  on  a  journey  through  his  provinces  on  the  Rhine. 
We  went  early  to  the  waiting  hall,  where  several  travelers  were 
already  assembled,  and  at  four  o'clock,  were  admitted  into  the 
newer  part  of  the  palace,  containing  the  throne  hall,  ball-room,  etc. 
On  entering  the  first  hall,  designed  for  the  lackeys  and  royal 
servants,  we  were  all  obliged  to  thrust  our  feet  into  cloth  slippers 
to  walk  over  the  polished  mosaic  floor.  The  walls  are  of  sca- 
gliola  marble  and  the  ceilings  ornamented  brilliantly  in  fresco. 
The  second  hall,  also  for  servants,  gives  tokens  of  increasing 
splendor  in  the  richer  decorations  of  the  walls  and  the  more  ela- 
borate mosaic  of  the  floor.  We  next  entered  the  receiving  saloon, 
in  which  the  Court  Marshal  receives  the  guests.  The  ceiling  is 
of  arabesque  sculpture,  profusely  painted  and  gilded.     Passing 


98  V1£:WS  A-FOOT. 


through  a  little  cabinet,  we  entered  the  great  dancing  saloon. 
Its  floor  is  the  richest  mosaic  of  wood  of  difierent  colors,  the  sides 
are  of  polished  scagliola  marble,  and  the  ceiling  a  dazzling  mix- 
ture of  sculpture,  painting  and  gold.  At  one  end  is  a  gallery  for 
the  orchestra,  supported  by  six  columns  of  variegated  marble, 
above  which  are  six  dancing  nymphs,  painted  so  beautifully  that 
they  appear  like  living  creatures.  Every  decoration  which  could 
be  devised  has  been  used  to  heighten  its  splendor,  and  the  artists 
appear  to  have  made  free  use  of  the  Arabian  Nights  in  forming 
the  plan. 

We  entered  next  two  smaller  rooms  containing  the  portraits  of 
beautiful  women,  principally  from  the  German  nobility.  I  ga\3 
the  preference  to  the  daughter  of  Marco  Bozzaris,  now  maid  of 
honor  to  the  Queen  of  Greece.  She  had  a  wild  dark  eye,  a 
beautiful  proud  lip,  and  her  rich  black  hair  rolled  in  gloss}'  waves 
down  her  neck  from  under  the  red  Grecian  cap  stuck  jauntily  on 
the  side  of  her  head.  She  wore  a  scarf  and  close-fitting  vest  em- 
broidered  with  gold,  and  there  was  a  free,  lofty  spirit  in  her  coun- 
tenance worthy  the  name  she  bore.  These  pictures  form  a 
gallery  of  beauty,  whose  equal  cannot  easily  be  found. 

Retv'irning  to  the  dancing  hall,  we  entered  the  dining  saloon, 
also  called  the  Hall  of  Charlemao;ne.  Each  wall  has  two  mas;- 
nificent  fresco  paintings  of  very  large  size,  representing  some 
event  in  the  life  of  the  great  emperor,  beginning  with  his  anoint- 
ing at  St.  Deny's  as  a  boy  of  twelve  years,  and  ending  with  his 
coronation  by  Leo  III.  A  second  dining  saloon,  the  Hall  of  Bar- 
barossa,  adjoins  the  first.  It  has  also  eight  frescoes  as  the  former, 
representing  the  principal  events  in  the  life  of  Frederic  Barba- 
rossa.  Then  comes  a  third,  called  the  Hapsburg  Hall,  with  four 
grand  paintings  from  the  life  of  Rudolph  of  Hapsburg,  and  a  tri- 
umphal procession  along  the  frieze,  showing  the  improvement  in 
the  arts  and  sciences  which  was  accomplished  under  his  reign. 
The  drawing,  composition  and  rich  tone  of  coloring  of  these  glo- 
rious frescoes,  are  scarcely  excelled  by  any  in  existence. 

Finally  we  entered  the  Hall  of  the  Throne.     Here  the  encaus 
tic    decoration,  so   plentifully  employed   in   the    other  rooms,  is 
dropped,  and  an  effect  even  more  brilliant  obtained  by  the  unhed 
use  of  marble  and  gold.     Picture  a  long  hall  with  a  floor  of 


THE  KING'S  APARTMENTS.  199 

polished  marble,  on  each  side  twelve  columns  of  white  marble 
with  gilded  capitals,  between  which  stand  colossal  statues  of  gold. 
At  the  other  end  is  the  throne  of  gold  and  crimson,  with  gorgeous 
hangings  of  crimson  velvet.  The  twelve  statues  in  the  hall  are 
called  the  "  VVittlesbach  Ancestors,"  and  represent  renowned 
members  of  the  house  of  Wittlesbach  from  which  the  present 
family  of  Bavaria  is  descended.  They  were  cast  in  bronze  by 
Stiglmaier,  after  the  models  of  Schwanthaler,  and  then  completely 
covered  with  a  coating  of  gold,  so  that  they  resemble  solid  golden 
statues.  The  value  of  the  precious  melal  on  each  one  is  about 
^3,000,  as  they  are  nine  feet  in  height !  What  would  the  poli- 
ticians who  made  such  an  outcry  about  the  new  papering  of  the 
President's  House,  say  to  such  a  palace  as  this  ? 

Going  back  to  the  starting  point,  we  went  to  the  other  wing  of 
the  edifice  and  joined  the  party  who  came  to  visit  the  apartments 
of  the  king.  Here  we  were  led  through  two  or  three  rooms,  ap- 
propriated to  the  servants,  with  all  the  splendor  of  marble  doors, 
floors  of  mosaic,  and  frescoed  ceilings.  From  these  we  entered 
the  king's  dwelling.  The  entrance  halls  are  decorated  with 
paintings  of  the  Argonauts  and  illustrations  of  the  Hymns  of 
Hesiod,  after  drawings  by  Schwanthaler.  Then  came  the  Ser- 
vice Hall,  containing  frescoes  illustrating  Homer,  by  Schnorr, 
and  the  Throne  Hall,  with  Schwanthaler's  bas-roliefs  of  the  songs 
of  Pindar,  on  a  ground  of  gold.  The  throne  stands  under  a  splen- 
did crimson  canopy.  The  Dining  Room  with  its  floor  of  polished 
wood  is  filled  with  illustrations  of  the  songs  of  Anacreon.  To 
these  follow  the  Dressing  Room,  with  twenty-seven  illustrations 
of  the  Comedies  of  Aristophanes,  and  the  sleeping  chamber  with 
frescoes  after  the  poems  of  Theocritus,  and  two  beautiful  bas- 
reliefs  representing  angels  bearing  ciiildren  to  Heaven.  It  is  no 
wonder  the  King  writes  poetry,  when  he  breathes,  eats,  and  even 
sleeps  in  an  atmosphere  of  it. 

We  were  shown  the  rooms  for  the  private  parties  of  the  Court, 
the  school-room,  with  scenes  from  the  life  of  the  Ancient  Greeks, 
and  then  conducted  down  the  marble  staircases  to  the  lower  story, 
which  is  to  contain  Schnorr's  magnificent  frescoes  of  the  Nibel- 
ungen  Lied — tl4f3  old  German  Iliad.  Two  halls  are  at  present 
finished  ;  the  first  has  the  figure  y.  the  author,  Heinrich  von  Of- 


200  VIEWS  AFOOT. 


terdingen,  and  those  of  Chriemhilde,  Brunhilde,  Siegfried  and 
the  other  personages  of  the  poem  ;  and  the  second,  called  the 
Marriage  Hall,  contains  the  marriage  of  Chriemhilde  and  Sieg- 
fried, and  the  triumphal  entry  of  Siegfried  into  Worms. 

Adjoining  the  new  residence  on  the  east,  is  the  Royal  Chapel, 
lately  finished  in  the  Byzantine  style,  under  the  direction  of 
Klenze.  To  enter  it,  is  like  stepping  into  a  casket  of  jewels. 
The  sides  are  formed  by  a  double  range  of  arches,  the  windows 
being  so  far  back  as  to  be  almost  out  of  sight,  so  that  the  eye  falls 
on  nothing  but  painting  and  gold.  The  lower  row  of  arches  is 
of  alternate  green  and  purple  marble,  beautifully  polished  ;  but 
the  upper,  as  well  as  the  small  chancel  behind  the  high  altar,  is 
entirely  covered  with  fresco  paintings  on  a  ground  of  gold!  The 
richness  and  splendor  of  the  whole  church  is  absolutely  incredi- 
ble. Even  after  one  has  seen  the  Lud wig's  Kirche  and  the  Resi- 
dence itself,  it  excites  astonishment.  I  was  surprised,  however, 
to  find  at  this  age,  a  painting  on  the  wall  behind  the  altar,  repre- 
senting the  Almighty.  It  seems  as  if  man's  presumption  has  no 
end.  The  simple  altar  of  Athens,  with  its  inscription  "  to  the 
Unknown  God,'^  was  more  truly  reverent  than  this.  As  I  sat 
down  awhile  under  one  of  the  arches,  a  poor  woman  came  in, 
carrying  a  heavy  basket,  and  going  to  the  steps  which  led  up  to 
the  altar,  knelt  down  and  prayed,  spreading  her  arms  out  in  the 
form  of  a  cross.  Then,  after  stooping  and  kissing  the  first  step, 
she  dragged  herself  with  her  knees  upon  it,  and  commenced  pray- 
ing again  with  outspread  arms.  This  she  continued  till  she  had 
climbed  them  all,  which  occupied  some  time  ;  then,  as  if  she  had 
fulfilled  a  vow  she  turned  and  departed.  She  was  undoubtedly 
sincere  in  her  piety,  but  it  made  me  sad  to  look  upon  such  delu- 
ded superstition. 

We  visited  yesterday  morning  the  Glyptothek,  the  finest  col- 
lection of  ancient  sculpture  except  that  in  the  British  Museum,  I 
have  yet  seen,  and  perhaps  elsewhere  unsurpassed,  north  of  the 
Alps.  The  building  which  was  finished  by  Klenze,  in  1830,  has 
an  Ionic  portico  of  white  marble,  with  a  group  of  allegorical  fig- 
ures, representing  Sculpture  and  the  kindred  arts.  On  each  side 
of  the  portico,  there  are  three  niches  in  the  front,  containing  on 
one  side,  Pericles,  Phidias  and  Vulcan  ;  on  the  other,  Hadrian, 


THE  GLYPTOTHEK.  201 

Prometheus  and  Daedalus.  The  whole  building  forms  a  hollow 
square,  and  is  lighted  entirely  from  the  inner  side.  There  are 
in  all  twelve  halls,  each  containing  the  remains  of  a  particular 
era  in  the  art,  and  arranged  according  to  time,  so  that,  beginning 
with  the  clumsy  productions  of  the  ancient  Egyptians,  one  passes 
through  the  different  stages  of  Grecian  art,  afterwards  that  of 
Rome,  and  finally  ends  with  the  works  of  our  own  times- — the 
almost  Grecian  perfection  of  Thorwaldsen  and  Canova.  These 
halls  are  worthy  to  hold  such  treasures,  and  what  more  could  be 
said  of  them  ?  Tlie  floors  are  of  marble  mosaic,  the  sides  of 
green  or  purple  scagliola,  and  the  vaulted  ceilings  covered  with 
raised  ornaments  on  a  ground  of  gold.  No  two  are  alike  in  color 
and  decoration,  and  yet  there  is  a  unity  of  taste  and  design  in  the 
whole,  which  renders  the  variety  delightful. 

From  the  Egyptian  Hall,  we  enter  one  containing  the  oldest 
remains  of  Grecian  sculpture,  before  the  artists  won  power  to 
mould  the  marble  to  their  conceptions.  Then  follow  the  celebrated 
Egina  marbles,  from  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Panhellenius,  on  the 
island  of  Egina.  They  formerly  stood  in  the  two  porticoes,  the 
one  group  representing  the  fight  for  the  body  of  Laomedon,  the 
other  the  struggle  for  the  dead  Patroclus.  The  parts  wanting 
have  been  admirably  restored  by  Thorwaldsen.  They  form  al- 
most the  only  existing  specimens  of  the  Eginetan  school.  Passing 
through  the  Apollo  Hall,  we  enter  the  large  hall  of  Bacchus,  in 
which  the  progress  of  the  art  is  distinctly  apparent.  A  satyr, 
lying  asleep  on  a  goat-skin  which  he  has  thrown  over  a  rock,  is 
believed  to  be  the  work  of  Praxiteles.  The  relaxation  of  the  fig- 
ure  and  perfect  repose  of  every  limb,  is  wonderful.  The  coun- 
tenance has  traits  of  individuality  which  led  me  to  think  it  might 
have  been  a  portrait,  perhaps  of  some  rude  country  swain. 

In  the  Hall  of  Niobe,  which  follows,  is  one  of  the  most  perfect 
works  that  ever  grew  into  life  under  a  sculptor's  chisel.  Muti- 
lated as  it  is,  without  head  and  arms,  I  never  saw  a  more  expres- 
sive figure.  Ilioneus,  the  son  of  Niobe,  is  represented  as  kneel- 
ing, apparently  in  the  moment  in  which  Apollo  raises  his  arrow, 
and  there  is  an  imploring  supplication  in  liis  attitude  which  is 
touching  in  the  highest  degree.  His  beautiful  young  limbs  seem 
to  shrink  involuntarily  from  the  deadly  shaft ;  there  is  an  expres- 

10* 


202  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


sion  of  prayer,  almost  of  agony,  in  the  position  of  his  body.  It 
should  be  left  untouched.  No  head  could  be  added,  which  would 
equal  that  one  pictures  to  himself,  while  gazing  upon  it. 

The  Pinacothek  is  a  magnificent  building  of  yellow  sandstone, 
five  hundred  and  thirty  feet  long,  containing  thirteen  hundred 
pictures,  selected  with  great  care  from  the  whole  private  collec- 
tion of  the  king,  which  amounts  to  nine  thousand.  Above  the 
cornice  on  the  southern  side,  stand  twenty-five  colossal  statues  of 
celebrated  painters,  by  Schwanthaler.  As  wo  approached,  the 
tall  bronze  door  was  opened  by  a  servant  in  the  Bavarian  livery, 
whose  size  harmonized  so  well  with  the  giant  proportions  of  the 
building,  that,  until  I  stood  beside  him  and  could  mark  the  con- 
trast, I  did  not  notice  his  enormous  frame.  I  saw  then  that  he 
must  be  near  eight  feet  high,  and  stout  in  proportion.  He  re- 
minded me  of  the  great  "Baver  of  Trient,"  in  Vienna.  The 
Pinacothek  contains  the  most  complete  collection  of  works  by 
old  German  artists,  anywhere  to  be  found.  There  are  in  the  hall 
of  the  Spanish  masters,  half  a  dozen  of  Murillo's  inimitable  beg- 
gar groups.  It  was  a  relief,  after  looking  upon  the  distressingly 
stiff*  fio-ures  of  the  old  German  school,  to  view  these  fresh,  natu- 
ral  countenances.  One  little  black-eyed  boy  has  just  cut  a  slice 
out  of  a  melon  and  turns  with  a  full  mouth  to  his  companion,  who 
is  busy  eating  a  bunch  of  grapes.  The  simple,  contented  ex- 
pression on  the  faces  of  the  beggars  is  admirable.  I  thought  I 
detected  in  a  beautiful  child,  with  dark  curly  locks,  the  original 
of  his  celebrated  Infant  St.  John.  I  was  much  interested  in  two 
small  juvenile  works  of  Raphael  and  his  own  portrait.  The  lat- 
ter was  taken  most  probably  after  he  became  known  as  a  painter. 
The  calm,  serious  smile  which  we  see  on  his  portrait  as  a  bo}^ 
had  vanished,  and  the  thin  features  and  sunken  eye  told  of  intense 
mental  labor. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  buildings  now  in  the  course  of 
erection  is  the  Basilica,  or  Church  of  St.  Bonifacius.  It  repre- 
sents another  form  of  the  Byzantine  style,  a  kind  of  double  edi- 
fice, a  little  like  a  North  River  steamboat,  with  a  two  story  cabin 
on  deck.  The  inside  is  not  yet  finished,  although  the  artists 
have  been  at  work  on  it  for  six  years,  but  we  heard  many  ac- 
counts of  its  splendor,  which  is  said  to  exceed  anything  that  has 


A   MECHANIC'S  STORY.  203 


been  yet  done  in  Munich.  We  visited  to-day  the  atelier  of 
Schwanthaler,  which  is  always  open  to  strangers.  The  sculptor 
himself  was  not  there,  but  five  or  six  of  his  scholars  were  at  work 
in  the  rooms,  building  up  clay  statues  after  his  models  and  work- 
ing out  bas-reliefs  in  frames.  We  saw  here  the  original  models 
of  the  statues  on  tlie  Pinacothek,  and  the  "  Wittelsbach  Ances- 
tors" in  the  Throne  Hall  of  the  palace.  I  was  glad  also  to  find 
a  miniature  copy  in  plaster,  of  the  Herrmannsschlacht,  or  combat 
of  the  old  German  hero,  Herrmann,  with  the  Romans,  from  the 
frieze  of  the  Walhalla,  at  Ratisbon.  It  is  one  of  Schwanthaler's 
best  works.  Herrmann,  as  the  middle  figure,  is  represented  in 
fight  with  the  Roman  general  ;  behind  him  the  warriors  are  rush- 
ing on,  and  an  old  bard  is  striking  the  chords  of  his  harp  to  in- 
spire them,  while  women  bind  up  the  wounds  of  the  fallen.  The 
Roman  soldiers  on  the  other  side  are  about  turning  in  confusion 
to  fly.  It  is  a  lofty  and  appropriate  subject  for  the  portico  of  a 
building  containing  the  figures  of  the  men  who  have  labored  for 
the  glory  and  elevation  of  their  Fatherland. 

Our  new-found  friend  came  to  visit  us  last  evening;  and  learn 
our  impressions  of  Munich.  In  the  course  of  conversation  we 
surprised  him  by  revealing  the  name  of  our  country.  His  coun- 
tenance brightened  up  and  he  asked  us  many  questions  about  the 
state  of  society  in  America.  In  return,  he  told  us  something 
more  about  himself — his  story  was  simple,  but  it  interested  me. 
His  father  was  a  merchant,  who,  having  been  ruined  by  unlucky 
transactions,  died,  leaving  a  numerous  family  without  the  means 
of  support.  His  children  were  obliged  to  commence  life  alone 
and  unaided,  which,  in  a  country  where  labor  is  so  cheap,  is  diffi- 
cult and  disheartening.  Our  friend  chose  the  profession  of  a  ma- 
chinist, which,  after  encountering  great  obstacles,  he  succeeded 
in  learning,  and  now  supports  himself  as  a  common  laborer.  But 
his  position  in  this  respect  prevents  him  from  occupying  that  sta- 
tion in  society  for  which  he  is  intellectually  fitted.  His  own 
words,  uttered  with  a  simple  pathos  which  I  can  never  forget,  will 
best  describe  how  painful  this  must  be  to  a  sensitive  spirit.  "  I 
tell  you  thus  frankly  my  feelings,"  said  he,  "  because  I  know 
you  will  understand  me.  I  could  not  say  this  *o  any  ot  my  asso- 
ciates, for  they  would  not  comprehind  it,  and  ihey  would  say  I 


204  VIEWS  A-FOOi 


am  proud,  because  I  cannot  bring  my  soul  down  to  their  level.  I 
am  poor  and  have  but  little  to  subsist  upon  ;  but  the  spirit  has  needs 
as  well  as  the  body,  and  I  feel  it  a  duty  and  a  desire  to  satisfy 
them  also.  When  1  am  with  any  of  my  common  fellow-laborers, 
what  do  I  gain  from  them  ?  Their  leisure  hours  are  spent  in 
drinking  and  idle  amusement,  and  I  cannot  join  them,  for  I  have 
no  sympathy  with  such  things.  To  mingle  with  those  above  me, 
would  be  impossible.  Therefore  I  am  alone — I  have  no  associate  !" 
I  have  gone  into  minute,  and  it  may  be,  tiresome  detail,  in  de- 
scribing some  of  the  edifices  of  Munich,  because  it  seemed  the 
only  way  in  which  I  could  give  an  idea  of  their  wonderful  beauty. 
It  is  true  that  in  copying  after  the  manner  of  the  daguerreotype, 
there  is  danger  of  imitating  its  dullness  also,  but  I  trust  to  the 
glitter  of  gold  and  rich  paintings,  for  a  little  brightness  in  the  pic- 
ture. We  leave  to-morrow  morning,  having  received  the  sum 
written  for,  which,  to  our  surprise,  will  be  barely  sufficient  to  en- 
able  us  to  reach  Heidelberg. 


AUGSBURG.  205 


1 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THROUGH    WTJRTEMBERG   TO    HEIDELBERG. 

We  left  Munich  in  tlie  morning  train  for  Augsburg.  Between 
the  two  cities  extends  a  vast  unbroken  plain,  exceedingly  barren 
and  monotonous.  Here  and  there  is  a  little  scrubby  woodland, 
and  sometimes  we  passed  over  a  muddy  stream  which  came  down 
from  the  Alps.  The  land  is  not  more  than  half-cultivated,  and 
the  villages  are  small  and  poor.  We  saw  many  of  the  peasants 
at  their  stations,  in  their  gay  Sunday  dresses  ;  the  women  wore 
short  gcwns  with  laced  boddices,  of  gay  colors,  and  little  caps  on 
the  top  of  their  heads,  with  streamers  of  ribbons  three  feet  long. 
After  two  hours'  ride,  we  saw  the  tall  towers  of  Augsburg,  and 
alighted  on  the  outside  of  the  wall.  The  deep  moat  which  sur- 
rounds the  city,  is  all  grown  over  with  velvet  turf,  the  towers  and 
bastions  are  empty  and  desolate,  and  we  passed  unchallenged  un- 
der the  gloomy  archway.  Immediately  on  entering  the  city, 
signs  of  its  ancient  splendor  are  apparent.  The  houses  are  old, 
many  of  them  with  quaint,  elaborately  carved  ornaments,  and 
often  covered  with  fresco  paintings.  These  generally  represent 
some  scene  from  the  Bible  history,  encircled  with  arabesque  bor- 
ders, and  pious  maxims  in  illuminated  scrolls.  We  went  into  the 
old  Raihhaus,  whose  golden  hall  still  speaks  of  the  days  of  Augs- 
burg's pride.  I  saw  in  the  basement  a  bronze  eagle,  \Yeighing 
sixteen  tons,  with  an  inscription  on  the  pedestal  stating  that  it 
was  cast  in  1806,  and  formerly  stood  on  the  top  of  an  old  public 
building;,  since  torn  down.  In  front  of  the  Rathhaus  is  a  fine 
bronze  fountain,  with  a  number  of  figures  of  angels  and  tritons. 

The  same  afternoon,  we  left  Augsburg  for  Ulm.  Long,  low 
ranges  of  hills,  running  from  the  Danube,  stretched  far  across 
the  country,  and  between  them  lay  many  rich,  green  valleys. 
We  passed,  occasionally,  large  villages,   perhaps  as  old   as  the 


206  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


times  of  the  crusaders,  and  looking  quite  pastoral  and  romantic 
from  the  outside;  but  we  were  always  glad  when  we  had  gone 
through  them  and  into  the  clean  country  again.  The  afternoon 
of  the  second  day  we  came  in  sight  of  the  fertile  plain  of  the  Dan- 
ube ;  far,  far  to  the  right  lay  the  field  of  Blenheim,  where  Marl- 
borough and  the  Prince  Eugene  conquered  the  united  French  and 
Bavarian  forces  and  decided  the  war  of  the  Spanish  succession. 

We  determined  to  reach  Ulm  the  same  evening,  although  a 
heavy  storm  was  raging  along  the  distant  hills  of  Wurtemberg. 
The  dark  mass  of  the  mighty  Cathedral  rose  in  the  distance 
through  the  twilight,  a  perfect  mountain  in  comparison  with  the 
little  houses  clustered  around  its  base.  We  reached  New  Ulm^ 
finally,  and  passed  over  the  heavy  wooden  bridge  into  Wurtem- 
berg,  unchallenged  for  passport  or  baggage.  I  thought  I  could 
feel  a  difference  in  the  atmosphere  when  I  reached  the  other 
side — it  breathed  of  the  freer  spirit  that  ruled  through  the  land. 
The  Danube  is  here  a  little  muddy  stream,  hardly  as  large  as 
my  native  Brandywine,  and  a  traveler  who  sees  it  at  Ulm  for 
the  first  time  would  most  probably  be  disappointed.  It  is  not  until 
below  Vienna,  where  it  receives  the  Drave  and  Save,  that  it  be- 
comes a  river  of  more  than  ordinary  magnitude. 

We  entered  Ulm,  as  I  have  already  said.  It  was  after  nine 
o'clock,  nearly  dark,  and  beginning  to  rain;  we  had  walked 
thirty-three  miles,  and  being  of  course  tired,  we  entered  the  first 
inn  we  saw.  But,  to  our  consternation,  it  was  impossible  to  get 
a  place — the  fair  had  just  commenced,  and  the  inn  was  full  to 
the  roof  We  must  needs  hunt  another,  and  then  another,  and 
yet  another,  with  like  fate  at  each.  It  grew  quite  dark,  the  rain 
increased,  and  we  were  unacquainted  with  the  city.  I  grew 
desperate,  and  at  last,  when  we  had  stopped  at  the  eighth  inn  in 
vain,  I  told  the  people  we  must  have  lodgings,  for  it  was  impossible 
we  should  walk  around  in  the  rain  all  nisjlit.  Some  of  the  s^uests 
interfering  in  our  favor,  the  hostess  finally  sent  a  servant  with  us 
to  the  first  hotel  in  the  city.  I  told  him  on  the  way  we  were 
Americans,  strangers  in  Ulm.  and  not  accustomed  to  sleeping  in 
the  streets.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  will  go  before,  and  recommend 
you  to  the  landlord  of  the  Golden  Wheel."  I  knew  not  what 
magic  he  used,  but  in  half  an  hour  our  weary  limbs  were  stretched 


SCENES   IN   WURTEMBERG  207 

in  delightful  repose  and  we  thanked  Heaven  more  gratefully  than 
ever  before,  for  the  blessing  of  a  good  bed. 

Next  mornino;  we  ran  about  through  the  booths  of  the  fair,  and 
gazed  up  from  all  sides  at  the  vast  Cathedral.  The  style  is  the 
simplest  and  grandest  Gothic  ;  but  the  tower,  which,  to  harmon- 
ize with  the  body  of  the  church,  should  be  520  feet  high,  was 
left  unfinished  at  the  height  of  234  feet.  I  could  not  enough  ad- 
mire the  grandeur  of  proportion  in  the  great  building.  It  seemed 
singular  that  the  little  race  of  animals  who  swarmed  around  its 
base,  should  have  the  power  to  conceive  or  execute  such  a  gigan- 
tic work. 

There  is  an  immense  fortification  now  in  progress  of  erection 
behind  Ulm.  It  leans  on  the  side  of  the  hill  which  rises  from 
the  Danube,  and  must  be  nearly  a  mile  in  length.  Hundreds  of 
laborers  are  at  work,  and  from  the  appearance  of  the  founda- 
tions, many  years  will  be  required  to  finish  it.  The  lofty  moun- 
tain-plain which  we  afterwards  passed  over,  for  eight  or  ten 
miles,  divides  the  waters  of  the  Danube  from  the  Rhine.  From 
the  heights  above  Ulm,  we  bade  adieu  to  the  far,  misty  Alps,  till 
we  shall  see  them  ag-ain  in  Switzerland.  Late  in  the  afternoon, 
we  came  to  a  lovely  green  valley,  sunk  as  it  were  in  the  earth. 
Around  us,  on  all  sides,  stretched  the  bare,  lofty  plains  ;  but  the 
valley  lay  below,  its  steep  sides  covered  with  the  richest  forest. 
At  the  bottom  flowed  the  Fils.  Our  road  led  directly  down  the 
side  ;  the  glen  spread  out  broader  as  we  advanced,  and  smiling 
villages  stood  beside  the  stream,  A  short  distance  before  reach- 
ing Esslingen,  we  came  upon  the  banks  of  the  Neckar,  whom 
we  hailed  as  an  old  acquaintance,  although  much  smaller  here 
in  his  mountain  home  than  when  he  sweeps  the  walls  of 
Heidelberg. 

Delightful  Wurtemberg  !  Shall  I  ever  forget  thy  lovely  green 
vales,  watered  by  the  classic  current  of  the  Neckar,  or  thy  lofty 
hills  covered  with  vineyards  and  waving  forests,  and  crowned 
\^ith  heavy  ruins,  that  tell  many  a  tale  of  Barbarossa  and  Duke 
Ulric  and  Goetz  with  the  Iron  Hand  !  No — were  even  the  Sua- 
bian  hills  less  beautiful — were  the  Suabian  people  less  faithful 
and  kind  and  true,  still  I  would  love  the  land  for  the  great  spirits 
it  has  produced ;   still  would  the  birth-place  of  Frederick  Schil- 


208  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


ler,  of  Uhland  and  HaufF,  be  sacred.  I  do  not  wonder  Wurtem- 
berg  can  boast  such  glorious  poets.  Its  lovely  landscapes  seem 
to  have  been  made  expressly  for  the  cradle  of  genius ;  amid  no 
other  scenes  could  his  infant  mind  catch  a  more  benign  inspira- 
tion. Even  the  common  people  are  deeply  imbued  with  a  poetic 
feeling.  We  saw  it  in  their  ft  iendly  greetings  and  open,  express- 
ive countenances ;  it  is  shown  in  their  love  for  their  beautiful 
homes  and  the  rapture  and  reverence  with  which  they  speak  of 
their  country's  bards.  No  river  in  the  world,  equal  to  the  Necfear 
in  size,  flows  for  its  whole  course  through  more  delightful  scen- 
ery, or  among  kinder  and  happier  people. 

After  leaving;  Esslin*o;en,  we  followed  its  banks  for  some  time, 
at  the  foot  of  an  amphitheatre  of  hills,  covered  to  the  very  sum- 
mit, as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  with  vineyards.  The  morning 
was  cloudy,  and  white  mist-wreaths  hung  along  the  sides.  We 
took  a  road  that  led  over  the  top  of  a  range,  and  on  arriving  at 
the  summit,  saw  all  at  once  the  city  of  Stuttgard,  lying  beneath 
our  feet.  It  lay  in  a  basin  encircled  by  mountains,  with  a  nar- 
row valley  opening  to  the  south-east,  and  running  off  between 
the  hills  to  the  Neckar.  The  situation  of  the  city  is  one  of  won- 
derful beauty,  and  even  after  seeing  Salzburg,  I  could  not  but 
be  charmed  with  it. 

We  descended  the  mountain  and  entered  it.  I  inquired  imme- 
diately for  the  monument  of  Schiller,  for  there  was  little  else  in 
the  city  I  cared  to  see.  We  had  become  tired  of  running  about 
cities,  hunting  this  or  that  old  church  or  palace,  which  perhaps 
was  nothing  when  found.  Stuttgard  has  neither  galleries,  ruins, 
nor  splendid  buildings,  to  interest  the  traveler;  but  it  has  Thor- 
waldsen's  statue  of  Schiller,  calling  up  at  the  same  time  its  shame 
and  its  glory.  For  the  poet  in  his  youth  was  obliged  to  fly  from 
this  very  same  city — from  hom\i  and  friends,  to  escape  the  perse- 
cution of  the  government  on  account  of  the  free  sentiments  ex- 
pressed in  his  early  works.  We  found  the  statue,  without  much 
difficultv.  It  stands  in  the  Schloss  Platz,  at  the  southern  end  of 
the  city,  in  an  unfavorable  situation,  surrounded  by  dark  old 
buildings.  It  should  rather  be  placed  aloft  on  a  mountain  sum- 
mit, in  the  pure,  free  air  of  heaven,  braving  the  storm  and  the 
tempest.    The  figure  is  fourteen  feet  high  and  stands  on  a  pedestal 


RAINY  TRAVELING.  209 

of  bronze,  with  bas  reliefs  on  the  four  sides.  The  head,  crowned 
with  a  laurel  wreath,  is  inclined  as  if  in  deep  thought,  and  all  the 
earnest  soul  is  seen  in  the  countenance.  Thorwaldsen  has  copied 
so  truly  the  expression  of  poetic  reverie,  that  I  waited,  half-ex- 
pecting he  would  raise  his  head  and  look  around  him. 

As  we  passed  out  the  eastern  gate,  the  workmen  were  busy 
near  the  city,  making  an  embankment  for  the  new  railroad  to 
Heilbroun,  and  we  were  obliged  to  wade  through  half  a  mile  of 
mud.  Finally  the  road  turned  to  the  left  over  a  mountain,  and 
we  walked  on  in  the  rain,  regardless  of  the  touching  entreaties 
of  an  omnibus-driver,  who  felt  a  great  concern  for  our  health, 
especially  as  he  had  two  empty  seats.  There  is  a  peculiarly 
agreeable  sensation  in  walking  in  a  storm,  when  the  winds  sweep 
by  and  the  rain-drops  rattle  through  the  trees,  and  the  dark 
clouds  roll  past  just  above  one's  head.  It  gives  a  dash  of  sub- 
limity to  the  most  common  scene.  If  the  rain  did  not  finally 
soak  through  the  boots,  and  if  one  did  not  lose  every  romantic 
feeling  in  wet  garments,  I  would  prefer  storm  to  sunshine,  for 
visiting  some  kinds  of  scenery.  You  remember,  we  saw  the 
North  Coast  of  Ireland  and  the  Giant's  Causeway  in  stormy 
weather,  at  the  expense  of  being  completely  drenched,  it  is  true ; 
but  our  recollections  of  that  wild  day's  journey  are  as  vivid  as 
any  event  of  our  lives — and  the  name  of  the  Giant's  Causeway 
calls  up  a  series  of  pictures  as  terribly  sublime  as  any  we  would 
wish  to  behold. 

The  rain  at  last  did  come  down  a  little  too  hard  for  comfort, 
and  we  were  quite  willing  to  take  shelter  when  we  reached  Lud- 
wigsburg.  This  is  here  called  a  new  city,  having  been  laid  out 
with  broad  streets  and  spacious  squares,  about  a  century  ago, 
and  is  now  about  the  size  of  our  five-year  old  city  of  Milwaukie  ! 
It  is  the  chief  military  station  of  Wurtemberg,  and  has  a  splendid 
castle  and  gardens,  belonging  to  the  king.  A  few  miles  to  the 
eastward  is  the  little  village  where  Schiller  was  born.  It  is  said 
the  house  where  his  parents  lived  is  still  standing. 

It  was  not  the  weather  alone,  which  prevented  our  making  a 
pilgrimage  to  it,  nor  was  it  alone  a  peculiar  fondness  for  rain 
which  induced  us  to  persist  in  walking  in  the  storm.  Our  feeble 
pockets,  if  they  could  have  raised  an  audible  jingle,  would  have 


210  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


told  another  tale.  Our  scanty  allowance  was  dwindling  rapidly 
away,  in  spite  of  a  desperate  system  of  economy.  We  left  Ulm 
with  a  florin  and  a  half  apiece — about  sixty  cents — to  walk  to 
Heidelberg,  a  distance  of  110  miles.  It  was  the  evening  of  the 
third  day,  and  this  was  almost  exhausted.  As  soon  therefore  as 
he  rain  slackened  a  little,  we  started  again,  although  the  roads 
were  very  bad.  At  Betigheim,  where  we  passed  the  night,  the 
people  told  us  of  a  much  nearer  and  more  beautiful  road,  passing 
through  the  Zabergau,  a  region  famed  for  its  fertility  and  pasto- 
ral beauty.  At  the  inn  we  were  charged  higher  than  usual  for 
a  bed,  so  that  we  had  but  thirteen  kreutzers  to  start  with  in  the 
morning.  Our  fare  that  day  was  a  little  bread  and  water ;  we 
walked  steadily  on,  but  owing  to  the  wet  roads,  made  only  thirty 
miles, 

A  more  delightful  region  than  the  Zabergau  I  have  seldom 
passed  through.  The  fields  were  full  of  rich,  heavy  grain,  and 
the  trees  had  a  luxuriance  of  foliage  that  reminded  me  of  the  vale 
of  the  Jed,  in  Scotland.  Without  a  single  hedge  or  fence,  stood 
the  long  sweep  of  hills,  covered  with  waving  fields  of  grain,  ex- 
cept where  they  were  steep  and  rocky,  and  the  vineyard  terraces 
rose  one  above  another.  Sometimes  a  fine  old  forest  grew  along 
the  summit,  like  a  mane  waving  back  from  the  curved  neck  of  a 
steed,  and  white  villages  lay  coiled  in  the  valleys  between.  A 
line  of  blue  mountains  always  closed  the  vista,  on  looking  down 
one  of  these  long  valleys  ;  occasionally  a  ruined  castle  wuh  donjon 
tower,  was  seen  on  a  mountain  at  tlie  side,  making  the  picture 
complete.  As  we  lay  sometimes  on  the  hillside  and  looked  on 
one  of  those  sweet  vales,  we  were  astonished  at  its  Arcadian  beau- 
ty. The  meadows  were  as  smooth  as  a  mirror,  and  there  seemed 
to  be  scarcely  a  grass-blade  out  of  place.  The  streams  wound 
through  ("  snaked  themselves  through,"  is  the  German  expres- 
sion,) with  a  subdued  ripple,  as  if  they  feared  to  displace  a  peb- 
ple,  and  the  great  ash  trees  which  stood  here  and  there,  had  lined 
each  of  their  leaves  as  carefully  with  silver  and  turned  them  as 
gracefully  to  the  wind,  as  if  they  were  making  their  toilettes  for 
the  gala-day  of  nature. 

That  evening  broucrht  us  into  the  dominions  of  Baden,  within 
five  hours'  walk  of  Heidelberg-.    At  the  humblest  inn  in  an  hum. 


FAMILIAT   SCENES.  211 

_ 

ble  village,  we  found  a  bed  which  we  could  barely  pay  for,  leav- 
ing a  kreutzer  or  two  for  breakfast.  Soon  after  starting  the  next 
morning,  the  distant  Kaiserstuhl  suddenly  emerged  from  the  mist, 
with  the  high  tower  on  its  summit,  where  nearly  ten  months  be- 
fore, we  sat  and  looked  at  the  summits  of  the  Vosges  in  France, 
with  all  the  excitement  one  feels  on  entering  a  foreign  land.  Now, 
the  scenerv  around  that  same  Kaiserstuhl  w^as  nearly  as  familiar 
lO  us  as  that  of  our  own  homes.  Entering  the  hills  again,  we 
knew  by  the  blue  mountains  of  the  Odenwald,  that  we  were  ap- 
proaching the  Neckar.  At  length  we  reached  the  last  height. 
The  town  of  Neckargemiind  lay  before  us  on  the  steep  hillside, 
and  the  mountains  on  either  side  were  scarred  with  quarries  of 
the  rich  red  sandstone,  so  much  used  in  building.  The  blocks 
are  hewn  out,  high  up  on  the  mountain  side,  and  then  sent  roll- 
ing and  sliding  down  to  the  river,  where  they  are  laden  in  boats 
and  floated  down  with  the  current  to  the  distant  cities  of  the 
Rhine. 

We  were  rejoiced  on  turning  around  the  corner  of  a  mountain, 
to  see  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  the  road  winding  up 
through  the  forests,  where  last  fall  our  Heidelberg  friends  accom- 
panied us,  as  we  set  out  to  walk  to  Frankfort,  through  the  Oden- 
wald. Many  causes  combined  to  render  it  a  glad  scene  to  us. 
We  were  going  to  meet  our  comrade  again,  after  a  separation  of 
months ;  we  were  bringing  an  eventful  journey  to  its  close  ;  and 
finally,  we  were  weak  and  worn  out  from  fasting  and  the  labor 
of  walking  in  the  rain.  A  little  further  we  saw  Kloster  Neu- 
burg,  formerly  an  old  convent,  and  remembered  how  we  used  to 
look  at  it  every  day  from  the  windows  of  our  room  on  the  Neckar; 
but  we  shouted  aloud,  when  we  saw  at  last  the  well-known 
bridge  spanning  the  river,  and  the  glorious  old  castle  lifting  its 
shattered  towers  from  the  side  of  the  mountain  above  us.  I  al- 
ways felt  a  strong  attachment  to  this  matchless  ruin,  and  as  I  be- 
held it  again,  with  the  warm  sunshine  falling  through  each  broken 
arch,  the  wild  ivy  draping  its  desolate  chambers,  it  seemed  to 
smile  on  me  like  the  face  of  a  friend,  and  I  confessed  I  had  seen 
many  a  grander  scene,  but  ^ew  that  would  cling  to  the  memory 
so  familiarly. 

While  we  were  in  Heidelberg,  a  s.udent  was  buried  by  torch- 


212  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


light.  This  is  done  when  particular  honor  is  shown  to  the  memo- 
ry of  the  departed  brother.  They  assembled  at  dark  in  the  Uni- 
versity Square,  each  with  a  blazing  pine  torch  three  feet  long, 
and  formed  into  a  double  line.  Between  the  files  walked  at  short 
distances  an  officer,  who,  with  his  sword,  broad  lace  collar,  and  the 
black  and  white  plumes  in  his  cap,  looked  like  a  cavalier  of  the 
olden  time.  Persons  with  torches  walked  on  each  side  of  the 
hearse,  and  the  band  played  a  lament  so  deeply  mournful,  that 
the  scene,  notwithstanding  its  singularity,  was  very  sad  and 
touching.  The  thick  smoke  from  the  torches  filled  the  air,  and 
a  lurid,  red  light  was  cast  over  the  hushed  crowds  in  the  streets 
and  streamed  into  the  dark  alleys.  The  Hauptstrasse  was  filled 
with  two  lines  of  flame,  as  the  procession  passed  down  it ;  when 
they  reached  the  extremity  of  the  city,  the  hearse  went  on,  at- 
tended with  torch-bearers,  to  the  Cemetery,  some  distance  further, 
and  the  students  turned  back,  running  and  whirling  their  torches 
in  mingled  confusion.  The  music  struck  up  a  merry  march,  and 
in  the  smoke  and  red  glare,  they  looked  like  a  company  of  mad 
demons.  The  presence  of  death  awed  them  to  silence  for  awhile, 
but  as  soon  as  it  had  left  them,  they  turned  relieved  to  revel  again 
and  thought  no  more  of  the  lesson.  It  gave  me  a  painful  feeling 
to  see  them  rushing  so  wildly  and  disorderly  back.  They  assem- 
bled again  in  the  square,  and  tossing  their  torches  up  into  the  air 
cast  them  blazing  into  a  pile ;  while  the  flame  and  black  smoke 
rose  in  a  column  into  the  air,  they  sang  in  solemn  chorus,  the  song 
*'  Gaudeamus  igitur,'^  with  which  they  close  all  public  assemblies. 
1  shall  neglect  telling  how  we  left  Heidelberg,  and  walked 
along  the  Bcrgstrasse  again,  for  the  sixth  time  ;  how  we  passed 
the  old  Melibochus  and  through  the  quiet  city  of  Darmstadt ;  how 
we  watched  the  blue  summits  of  the  Taunus  rising  higher  and 
higher  over  the  plain,  as  a  new  land  rises  from  the  sea,  and  final- 
ly, how  we  reached  at  last  the  old  watch-tower  and  looked  down 
on  the  valley  of  the  Main,  clothed  in  the  bloom  and  verdure  of 
summer,  with  the  houses  and  spires  of  Frankfort  in  the  middle 
of  the  well-known  panorama.  We  again  took  possession  of  our 
old  rooms,  and  having  to  wait  for  a  remittance  from  America,  as 
well  as  a  more  suitable  season  for  visiting  Italy,  we  sat  down  to 
a  month's  rest  and  study. 


FAREWELL  TO  FRANKFORT.  213 


CHAPTER  III. 

FREIBURG  AND  THE  BLACK  FOREST. 

Frankfort,  July  29,  1845. — It  would  be  ingratitude  to\var<fe  the 
old  city  in  which  1  have  passed  so  many  pleasant  and  profitable 
hours,  to  leave  it,  perhaps  forever,  without  a  few  words  of  fare- 
well. How  often  will  the  old  bridge,  with  its  view  up  the  Main, 
over  the  houses  of  Oberrad  to  the  far  mountains  of  the  Odenwald, 
rise  freshly  and  distinctly  in  memory,  when  I  shall  have  been 
long  absent  from  them  !  How  often  will  1  hear  in  fancy  as  I  now 
do  in  reality,  the  heavy  tread  of  passers-by  on  the  rough  pave- 
ment below,  and  the  deep  bell  of  the  Cathedral,  chiming  the  swift 
hours,  with  a  hollow  tone  that  seems  to  warn  me,  rightly  to  em- 
ploy them  !  Even  this  old  room,  with  its  bare  walls,  little  table 
and  chairs,  whioh  I  have  thought  and  studied  in  so  long,  that  it 
seems  difficult  to  think  and  study  anywhere  else,  will  crowd  out 
of  memory  images  of  many  a  loftier  scene.  May  I  but  preserve 
for  the  future  the  hope  and  trust  which  have  cheered  and  sus- 
tained me  here,  through  the  sorrow  of  absence  and  the  anxiety  of 
uncertain  toil  !  It  is  growing  towards  midnight  and  I  think  of 
many  a  night  when  I  sat  here  at  this  hour,  answering  the  spirit- 
greeting  which  friends  sent  me  at  sunset  over  the  sea.  All  this 
has  now  an  end.  I  must  begin  a  new  wandering,  and  perhaps  in 
ten  days  more  I  shall  have  a  better  place  for  thought,  among  the 
mountain-chambers  of  the  everlasting  Alps.  I  look  forward  to 
the  journey  with  romantic,  enthusiastic  anticipation,  for  alar  in 
the  silvery  distance,  stand  the  Coliseum  and  St.  Peter's,  Vesuvius 
and  the  lovely  Naples.  Farewell,  friends  who  have  so  long  given 
us  a  home  ! 

Aug.  9. — The  airy,  basket-work  tower  of  the  Freiburg  Minster 
rises  before  me  over  the  black  roofs  of  the  houses,  and  behind 
stand  the  gloomy,  pine-covered   mountains  of  the  Black  Forest, 


214  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Of  our  walk  to  Heidelberg  over  the  oft-trodden  Bergstrasse,  I 
shall  say  nothing,  nor  how  we  climbed  the  Kaiserstuhl  again, 
and  danced  around  on  the  top  of  the  tower  for  one  hour,  amid 
cloud  and  mist,  while  there  was  sunshine  below  in  the  valley  of 
the  Neckar.  I  left  Heidelberg  yesterday  morning  in  the  stehtoa- 
gen  for  Carlsruhe.  The  engine  whistled,  the  train  started,  and 
although  1  kept  my  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the  spire  of  the  Haupt- 
kirche,  three  minutes  hid  it,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  city  from  sight. 
Carlsruhe,  the  capital  of  Baden,  which  we  reached  in  an  hour 
and  #half,  is  unanimously  pronounced  by  travelers  to  be  a  most 
dull  and  tiresome  city.  From  a  glance  1  had  through  one  of  the 
gates,  I  should  think  its  reputation  was  not  undeserved.  Even  its 
name,  in  German,  signifies  a  place  of  repose. 

I  stopped  at  Kork,  on  the  branch  road  leading  to  Strasbourg,  to 
meet  a  German-American  about  to  return  to  my  home  in  Penn- 
sylvania, where  he  had  lived  for  some  time.  I  inquired  accord- 
insf  to  the  direction  he  had  sent  me  to  Frankfort,  but  he  was  not 
there  ;  however,  an  old  man,  finding  who  I  was,  said  Herr  Otto 
had  directed  him  to  go  with  me  to  Hesselhurst,  a  village  four  or 
five  miles  off,  where  he  would  meet  me.  So  we  set  off  immedi- 
ately over  the  plain,  and  reached  the  village  at  dusk. 

At  the  little  inn,  were  several  of  the  farmers  of  the  neighbor, 
hood,  who  seemed  to  consider  it  as  something  extraordinary  to  see 
a  real,  live,  native-born  American.  They  overwhelmed  me  with 
questions  about  the  state  of  our  country,  its  government,  etc. 
The  hostess  brought  me  a  supper  of  fried  eggs  and  wurst,  while 
they  gathered  around  the  table  and  began  a  real  category  in  the 
dialect  of  the  country,  which  is  difficult  to  understand.  I  gave 
them  the  best  information  I  could  about  our  mode  of  farming,  the 
different  kinds  of  produce  raised,  and  the  prices  paid  to  laborers; 
one  honest  old  man  cried  out,  on  my  saying  I  had  worked  on  u 
farm,  "  Ah  !  little  brother,  give  me  your  hand  !"  which  he  shook 
most  heartily.  1  told  them  also  something  about  our  government, 
and  the  militia  system,  so  different  from  the  conscription  of  Europe, 
when  a  farmer  becoming  quite  warm  in  our  favor,  said  to  the 
others  with  an  air  of  the  greatest  decision :  "  One  American  is 
better  than  twenty  Germans  !"  What  particularly  amused  me, 
was,  that  although  I  spoke  German  with  them,  they  seemed  to 


FREIBURG.  215 


think  I  did  not  understand  what  they  said  annong  one  another, 
and  therefore  commented  very  freely  over  my  appearance.  I 
suppose  they  had  the  idea  that  we  were  a  rude,  savage  race,  for  I 
overheard  one  say  :  "  One  sees,  nevertheless,  that  he  has  been 
educated  !"  Their  honest,  unsophisticated  mode  of  expression 
was  very  interesting  to  me,  and  we  talked  together  till  a  late 
hour. 

My  friend  arrived  at  three  o'clock  the  next  morning,  and  after 
two  or  three  hours'  talk  about  home,  and  the  friends  whom  he 
expected  to  see  so  much  sooner  than  I,  a  young  farmer  drove  me 
in  his  wagon  to  Offenburg,  a  small  city  at  the  foot  of  the  Black 
Forest,  where  T  took  the  cars  for  Freiburs".  The  scenery  between 
the  two  places  is  grand.  The  broad  mountains  of  the  Black  For- 
est  rear  their  fronts  on  the  east,  and  the  hlue  lines  of  the  French 
Voso-es  meet  the  clouds  on  the  west.  The  nio-ht  before,  in  walk- 
ing  over  the  plain,  I  saw  distinctly  the  whole  of  the  Strasbourg 
Minster,  whose  spire  is  the  highest  in  Europe,  being  four  hun- 
dred and  ninety  feet,  or  but  twenty-five  feet  lower  than  the  Py- 
ramid of  Cheops. 

I  visited  the  Minster  of  Freiburg  yesterday  morning.  It  is  a 
grand,  gloomy  old  pile,  dating  from  the  eleventh  century — one  of 
the  few  Gothic  churches  in  Germany  that  have  ever  been  com- 
pleted. The  tower  of  beautiful  fretwork,  rises  to  the  height  of 
three  hundred  and  ninety-five  feet,  and  the  body  of  the  church 
including  the  choir,  is  of  the  same  length.  The  interior  is  solemn 
and  majestic.  Windows  stained  in  colors  that  burn,  let  in  a  "dim, 
religious  light"  which  accords  very  well  with  the  dark  old  pillars 
and  antique  shrines.  In  two  of  the  chapels  there  are  some  fine 
altar-pieces  by  Holbein  and  one  of  his  scholars  ;  and  a  very 
large  crucifix  of  silver  and  ebony,  which  is  kept  with  great  care, 
is  said  to  have  been  carried  with  the  Crusaders  to  the  Holy  Land. 
'This  morning  was  the  great  market-day,  and  the  peasantry  of  the 
Black  Forest  came  down  from  the  mountains  to  dispose  of  their 
produce.  The  square  around  the  Minster  was  filled  with  them, 
and  the  singular  costume  of  the  women  gave  the  scene  quite  a 
strange  appearance.  Many  of  them  wore  bright  red  head-dresses 
and  shawls,  others  had  high-crowned  hats  of  yellow  oil-cloth  ;  the 
YOung  girls  wore  their  hair  in  long  plaits,  reaching  nearly  to  their 


216  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


feet.  They  brought  grain,  butter  and  cheese  and  a  great  deal  of 
fine  fruit  to  sell — I  bought  some  of  the  wild,  aromatic  plums  of 
the  country,  at  the  rate  of  thirty  for  a  cent. 

The  railroad  has  only  been  open  to  Freiburg  within  a  few  days, 
and  is  consequently  an  object  of  great  curiosity  to  the  peasants, 
many  of  whom  never  saw  the  like  before.  They  throng  around 
the  station  at  the  departure  of  the  train  and  watch  with  great  inte- 
rest the  operations  of  getting  up  the  steam  and  starting.  One  of 
the  scenes  that  grated  most  harshly  on  my  feelings,  was  seeing 
yesterday  a  company  of  women  employed  on  the  unfinished  part 
of  the  road.  They  were  digging  and  shoveling  away  in  the  rain, 
nearly  up  to  their  knees  in  mud  and  clay  ! 

I  called  at  the  Institute  for  the  Blind,  under  the  direction  of  Mr, 
Miiller.  He  showed  me  some  beautiful  basket  and  woven  work 
by  his  pupils;  the  accuracy  and  skill  with  which  everything  was 
made  astonished  me.  They  read  with  amazing  facility  from  the 
raised  type,  and  by  means  of  frames  are  taught  to  write  with 
ease  and  distinctness.  In  music,  that  great  solace  of  the  blind, 
they  most  excelled.  They  sang  with  an  expression  so  true  and 
touching,  that  it  was  a  delight  to  listen.  The  system  of  instruc- 
tion adopted  appears  to  be  most  excellent,  and  gives  to  the  blind 
nearly  every  advantage  which  their  more  fortunate  brethren 
enjoy. 

I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  Miiller,  to  whom  I  was  introduced  by  an 
acquaintance  with  his  friend,  Dr.  Rivinus,  of  West  Chester,  Pa., 
for  many  kind  attentions.  He  went  with  us  this  afternoon  to  the 
Jagerhaus,  on  a  mountain  near,  wl>ere  we  had  a  very  fine  view 
of  the  city  and  its  great  black  Minster,  with  the  plain  of  the 
Briesgau,  broken  only  by  the  Kaiserstuhl,  a  long  mountain  near 
the  Rhine,  whose  golden  stream  glittered  in  the  distance.  On 
climbing  the  Schlossberg,  an  eminence  near  the  city,  we  met  the 
Grand  Duchess  Stephanie,  a  natural  daughter  of  Napoleon,  as  I 
have  heard,  and  now  generally  believed  to  be  the  mother  of  Cas- 
par Hauser.  Through  a  work  lately  published,  which  has  since 
been  suppressed,  the  whole  history  has  come  to  light.  Caspar 
Hauser  was  the  lineal  descendant  of  the  house  of  Baden,  and  heir 
to  the  throne.  The  guilt  of  his  imprisonment  and  murder  rests, 
therefore,  upon  the  present  reigning  family. 


THE  STUDENTS.  217 


A  chapel  on  the  Schonberg,  the  mountain  opposite,  was  pointed 
out  as  the  spot  where  Louis  XV. ,  if  I  mistake  not,  usually  stood 
while  his  army  besieged  Freiburg.  A  German  officer  having 
sent  a  ball  to  this  chapel  which  struck  the  wall  just  above  the 
king's  head,  the  latter  sent  word  that  if  they  did  not  cease  firing 
he  would  point  his  cannons  at  the  Minster.  The  citizens  thought 
it  best  to  spare  the  monarch  and  save  the  cathedral. 

We  attended  a  meeting  of  the  Walhalla,  or  society  of  the  stu- 
dents who  visit  the  Freiburg  University.  They  pleased  me  better 
than  the  enthusiastic  but  somewhat  unrestrained  Burschenschaft 
of  Heidelberg.  Here,  they  have  abolished  duelling;  the  greatest 
friendship  prevails  among  the  students,  and  they  have  not  that 
contempt  for  every  thing  phihster,  or  unconnected  with  their 
studies,  which  prevails  in  other  universities.  Many  respectable 
citizens  attend  their  meetings ;  to-night  there  was  a  member  of 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies  at  Carlsruhe  present,  who  delivered  two 
speeches,  in  which  every  third  word  was  "  freedom  !"  An  ad- 
dress was  delivered  also  by  a  merchant  of  the  city,  in  which  he 
made  a  play  upon  the  word  spear,  which  signifies  also  in  a  cant 
sense,  citizen,  and  seemed  to  indicate  that  both  would  do  their 
work  in  the  good  cause.  He  was  loudly  applauded.  Their  song 
of  union  was  by  Charles  FoUen,  and  the  students  were  much 
pleased  when  I  told  them  how  he  was  honored  and  esteemed  in 
America. 

After  two  days,  delightfully  spent,  we  shouldered  our  knap- 
sacks and  left  Freiburg.  The  beautiful  valley,  at  the  mouth  of 
which  the  city  lies,  runs  like  an  avenue  for  seven  miles  directly 
into  the  mountains,  and  presents  in  its  loveliness  such  a  contrast 
to  the  horrid  defile  which  follows,  that  it  almost  deserves  the 
name  which  has  been  given  to  a  little  inn  at  its  head — the  "  King- 
dom of  Heaven."  The  mountains  of  the  Black  Forest  enclose 
it  on  each  side  like  walls,  covered  to  the  summit  with  luxuriant 
woods,  and  in  some  places  with  those  forests  of  gloomy  pine  which 
give  this  region  its  name.  After  traversing  its  whole  length,  just 
before  plunging  into  the  mountain-depths,  the  traveler  rarely 
meets  with  a  finer  picture  than  that  which,  on  looking  back,  he 
sees  framed  between  the  hills  at  the  other  end.  Freiburg  looks 
around  the  foot  of  one  of  the  heights,  with  the  spire  of  her  cathe- 

11 


IS  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


dral  peeping  above  the  top,  while  the  French  Vosges  grew  dim  in 
the  far  perspective. 

The  road  now  enters  a  wild,  narrow  valley,  which  grows 
smaller  as  we  proceed.  From  Himmelreich,  a  large  rude  inn  by 
the  side  of  the  green  meadows,  we  enter  the  Hollenthal — that  is, 
from  the  "  Kingdom  of  Heaven"  to  the  ''  Valley  of  Hell  !"  The 
latter  place  better  deserves  its  appellation  than  the  former.  The 
road  winds  between  precipices  of  black  rock,  above  which  the 
thick  foliage  shuts  out  the  brightness  of  day  and  gives  a  sombre 
hue  to  the  scene.  A  torrent  foams  down  the  chasm,  and  in  one 
place  two  miglity  pillars  interpose  to  prevent  all  passage.  The 
stream,  however,  has  worn  its  way  through,  and  the  road  is  hewn 
in  the  rock  by  its  side.  This  cleft  is  the  only  entrance  to  a  val- 
ley three  or  four  miles  long,  which  lies  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
mountains.  It  is  inhabited  by  a  few  woodmen  and  their  families, 
and  but  for  the  road  which  passes  through,  would  be  as  perfect  a 
solitude  as  the  Happy  Valley  of  Rasselas.  At  the  farther  end, 
a  winding  road  called  "  The  Ascent,"  leads  up  the  steep  moun- 
tain to  an  elevated  region  of  country,  thinly  settled  and  covered 
with  herds  of  cattle.  The  cherries  which,  in  the  Rhine-plain  be- 
low, had  long  gone,  were  just  ripe  here.  The  people  spoke  a 
most  barbarous  dialect ;  they  were  social  and  friendly,  for  every- 
body greeted  us,  and  sometimes,  as  we  sat  on  a  bank  by  the  road- 
side, those  who  passed  by  would  say  "  Rest  thee !"  or  "  Thrice 
/est !" 

Passing  by  the  Titi  Lake,  a  small  body  of  water  which  was 
spread  out  among  the  hills  like  a  sheet  of  ink,  so  deep  was  its 
Stygian  hue,  we  commenced  ascending  a  mountain.  The  high- 
est peak  of  the  Schwarzwald,  the  Feldbsrg,  rose  not  far  off,  and 
on  arriving  at  the  top  of  this  mountain,  we  saw  that  a  half  hour's 
walk  would  bring  us  to  its  summit.  This  was  too  great  a  temp- 
tation for  my  love  of  climbing  heights ;  so  with  a  look  at  the  de- 
scending sun  to  calculate  how  much  time  we  could  spare,  we  set 
out.  There  was  no  path,  but  we  pressed  directly  up  the  steep 
side,  through  bushes  and  long  grass,  and  in  a  sliort  time  reached 
the  top,  breathless  from  such  exertion  in  the  thin  atmosphere. 
The  pine  woods  shut  out  the  view  to  the  north  and  east,  which 
is  said  to  be  magnificent,  as  the  mountain  is  about  five  thousand 


THE   BLACK   FOREST.  219 

feet  high.  The  wild,  black  peaks  of  the  Black  Forest  were 
spread  below  us,  and  the  sun  sank  through  golden  mist  towards 
the  Alsatian  hills.  Afar  to  the  south,  through  cloud  and  storm, 
we  could  just  trace  the  white  outline  of  the  Swiss  Alps.  The 
wind  swept  through  the  pines  around,  and  bent  the  long  yellow 
grass  among  which  we  sat,  with  a  strange,  mournful  sound,  well 
suiting  the  gloomy  and  mysterious  region.  It  soon  grew  cold, 
(he  golden  clouds  settled  down  towards  us,  and  we  made  haste  to 
descend  to  the  village  of  Lenzkirch  before  dark. 

Next  morning  we  set  out  early,  without  waiting  to  see  the  trial 
of  archery  which  was  to  take  place  among  the  mountain  youths. 
Their  booths  and  targets,  gay  with  banners,  stood  on  a  green 
meadow  beside  the  town.  We  walked  through  the  Black  Forest 
the  whole  forenoon.  It  might  be  owing  to  the  many  wild  stories 
whose  scenes  are  laid  among  these  hills,  but  with  me  there  was 
a  peculiar  feeling  of  solemnity  pervading  the  whole  region.  The 
great  pine  woods  are  of  the  very  darkest  hue  of  green,  and  down 
their  hoary,  moss-floored  aisles,  daylight  seems  never  to  have 
shone.  The  air  was  pure  and  clear,  and  the  sunshine  bright, 
but  it  imparted  no  gaiety  to  the  scenery  :  except  the  little  mea- 
dows of  living  emerald  which  lay  occasionally  in  the  lap  of  a 
dell,  the  landscape  wore  a  solemn  and  serious  air.  In  a  storm, 
it  must  be  sublime. 

About  noon,  from  the  top  of  the  last  range  of  hills,  we  had  a 
glorious  view.  The  line  of  the  distant  Alps  could  be  faintly 
traced  hiij;h  in  the  clouds,  and  all  the  heiijhts  between  were 
plainly  visible,  from  the  Lake  of  Constance  to  the  misty  Jura, 
which  flanked  the  Vosges  of  the  west.  From  our  lofty  station 
we  overlooked  half  Switzerland,  and  had  the  air  been  a  little 
clearer,  we  could  have  seen  Mont  Blanc  and  the  mountains  of 
Savoy.  I  could  not  help  envying  the  feelings  of  the  Swiss,  Vv'ho, 
after  long  absence  from  their  native  land,  first  see  the  Alps  from 
this  road.  If  to  the  emotions  with  which  I  then  looked  on  them 
were  added  the  passionate  love  of  home  and  country  which  a 
long  absence  creates,  such  excess  of  rapture  would  be  almost  too 
great  to  be  borne. 

In  the  afternoon  we  crossed  the  border,  and  took  leave  of  Ger 
many    with    regret,    after   near   a   year's    residence    within 


420  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


bounds.  Still  it  was  pleasant  to  know  we  were  in  a  republic 
once  more  :  the  fifst  step  we  took  made  us  aware  of  the  change. 
There  was  no  policeman  to  call  for  our  passports  or  search  our 
baggage.  It  was  just  dark  when  we  reached  the  hiU  overlook- 
ing the  Rhine,  on  whose  steep  banks  is  perched  the  antique  town 
of  Schaffhausen.  It  is  still  walled  in,  with  towers  at  regular  in- 
tervals ;  the  streets  are  wide  and  spacious,  and  the  houses  ren- 
dered extremely  picturesque  by  the  quaint  projecting  windows. 
■The  buildings  are  nearly  all  old,  as  we  learned  by  the  dates 
above  the  doors.  At  the  inn,  1  met  with  one  of  the  free  troopers 
who  marched  against  Luzerne.  He  was  full  of  spirit,  and  ready 
to  undertake  another  such  journey.  Indeed  it  is  the  universal 
opinion  that  the  present  condition  of  things  cannot  last  much 
longer. 

We  took  a  walk  before  breakfast  to  the  Falls  of  the  Rhine, 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Schaffhausen.  I  confess  I  was 
somewhat  disappointed  in  them,  after  the  glowing  descriptions  of 
travelers.  The  river  at  this  place  is  little  more  than  thirty 
yards  wide,  and  the  body  of  water,  although  issuing  from  the 
Lake  of  Constance,  is  not  remarkably  strong.  For  some  distance 
above,  the  fall  of  the  water  is  very  rapid,  and  as  it  finally  reaches 
the  spot  where,  narrowed  between  rocks,  it  makes  the  grand 
plunge,  it  has  acquired  a  great  velocity.  Three  rocks  stand  in 
the  middle  of  the  current,  which  thunders  against  and  around 
their  bases,  but  cannot  shake  them  down.  These  and  the  rocks 
in  the  bed  of  the  stream,  break  the  force  of  the  fall,  so  that  it  de- 
scends to  the  bottom,  about  fifty  feet  below,  not  in  one  sheet,  but 
shivered  into  a  hundred  leaps  of  snowy  foam.  The  precipitous 
shores,  and  the  tasteful  little  castle  which  is  perched  upon  the 
steep  just  over  the  boiling  spray,  add  much  to  its  beauty,  taken 
as  a  picture.  As  a  specimen  of  the  picturesque,  the  whole  scene 
is  perfect.  1  should  think  Trenton  Falls,  in  New  York,  must 
excel  these  in  wild,  startling  effect ;  but  there  is  such  a  scarcity 
of  waterfalls  in  this  land,  that  the  Germans  go  into  raptures  about 
them,  and  will  hardly  believe  that  Niagara  itself  possesses  more 
sublimity. 


SWITZERLAND.  221 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

PEOPLE    AT^D    PLACES    IN    EASTERN    SWITZERLAND. 

We  left  Schaffhausen  for  Zurich,  in  mist  and  rain,  and 
walked  for  some  time  along  the  north  bank  of  the  Rhine.  We 
could  have  enjoyed  the  scenery  much  better,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  rain,  which  not  only  hid  the  mountains  from  sight,  but  kept 
us  constantly  half  soaked.  We  crossed  the  rapid  Rhine  at  Egli- 
sau,  a  curious  antique  village,  and  then  continued  our  way 
througii  the  forests  of  Canton  Zurich,  to  Biilach,  with  its  groves 
of  lindens — "  those  tall  and  stately  trees,  with  velvet  down  upon 
their  shining  leaves,  and  rustic  benches  placed  beneath  their  over- 
hanginij  eaves." 

When  we  left  the  little  village  where  the  rain  obliged  us  to 
stop  for  the  night,  it  was  clear  and  delightful.  The  farmers  were 
out,  busy  at  work,  their  long,  straight  scythes  glancing  through 
the  wet  grass,  while  the  thick  pines  sparkled  with  thousands  of 
6ewj  diamonds.  The  country  was  so  beautiful  and  cheerful, 
that  we  half  felt  like  being  in  America.  The  farm-houses  were 
scattered  over  the  country  in  real  American  style,  and  the  glori- 
ous valley  of  the  Limmat,  bordered  on  the  west  by  a  range  of 
woody  hills,  reminded  me  of  some  scenes  in  my  native  Penn- 
sylvania. The  houses  were  neatly  and  tastefully  built,  with  lit- 
tle gardens  around  them — and  the  countenances  of  the  people 
spoke  of  intelligence  and  independence.  There  was  the  same  air 
of  peace  and  prosperity  which  delighted  us  in  the  valleys  of  Upper 
Austria,  with  a  look  of  freedom  which  those  had  not.  The  faces 
of  a  people  are  the  best  index  to  their  condition.  I  could  read  on 
their  brows  a  lofty  self-respect,  a  consciousness  of  the  liberties 
they  enjoy,  which  the  Germans  of  the  laboring  class  never  show. 
Tt  could  not  be  imagination,  for  the  recent  occurrences  in  Swit- 
zerland, with  the  many  statements  I  heard  in  Germany,  had  pre- 


VIEWS    A-FOOT. 


judiced  me  somewhat  against  the  land;  and  these  marks  of  pros- 
perity and  freedom  were  as  surprising  as  they  were  delightful. 

As  we  approached  Zurich,  the  noise  of  employment  from  mills, 
furnaces  and  factories,  came  to  us  like  familiar  sounds,  remind- 
ing us  of  the  bustle  of  our  home  cities.  The  situation  of  the  citv 
is  lovely.  It  lies  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  and  on  both  sides  of  the 
little  river  Limmat,  whose  clear  green  waters  carry  the  collected 
meltings  of  the  Alps  to  the  Rhine.  Around  the  lake  rise  lofty 
green  hills,  which,  sloping  gently  back,  bear  on  their  sides  hun- 
dreds of  pleasant  country-houses  and  farms,  and  the  snowy  Al- 
pine range  extends  along  the  southern  sky.  The  Limmat  is 
spanned  by  a  number  of  bridges,  and  its  swift  waters  turn  many 
mills  which  are  built  above  them.  From  these  bridges  one  can 
look  out  over  the  blue  lake  and  down  the  thronged  streets  of  the 
city  on  each  side,  whose  bright,  cheerful  houses  remind  him  of 
Italy. 

Zurich  can  boast  of  finer  promenades  than  any  other  city  in 
Switzerland.  The  old  battlements  are  planted  with  trees  and 
transformed  into  pleasant  walks,  which  being  elevated  above  the 
city,  command  views  of  its  beautiful  environs.  A  favorite  place 
if  resort  is  the  Lindenhof,  an  elevated  court-yard,  shaded  by  im- 
mense trees.  The  fountains  of  water  under  them  are  always 
surrounded  by  washerwomen,  and  in  the  morning  groups  of  merry 
school  children  may  be  seen  tumbling  over  the  grass.  The 
teachers  take  them  there  in  a  body  for  exercise  and  recreation. 
The  Swiss  children  are  beautiful,  bright-eyed  creatures;  there 
is  scarcely  one  who  does  not  exhibit  the  dawning  of  an  active, 
energetic  spirit.  It  may  be  partly  attributed  to  the  fresh,  healthy 
climate  of  Switzerland,  but  I  am  partial  enough  to  republics  to 
believe  that  the  influence  of  the  Government  under  which  they 
live,  has  also  its  share  in  producing  the  elfect. 

There  is  a  handsome  promenade  on  an  elevated  bastion  which 
overlooks  the  city  and  lakes.  While  enjoying  the  cool  morning 
breeze  and  listening  to  the  stir  of  the  streets  below  us,  we  were 
also  made  aware  of  the  social  and  friendly  politeness  of  the  peo- 
ple. Those  who  passed  by,  on  their  walk  around  the  rampart, 
greeted  us,  almost  with  the  familiarity  of  an  acquaintance.  Sim- 
ple as  was  the  act,  we  felt  grateful,  for  it  had  ai  least  the  seem 


SWISS   CHILDREN.  223 

«ng  of  a  friendly  interest  and  a  sympathy  with  the  loneliness 
••vhich  the  stranger  sometimes  feels.  A  school-teacher  leading 
her  troop  of  merry  children  on  their  morning  walk  around  the 
bastion,  nodded  to  us  pleasantly  and  forthwith  the  whole  company 
of  chubby-cheeked  rogues,  looking  up  at  us  with  a  pleasant  arch- 
ness, lisped  a  '■'  guten  morgen^'  that  made  the  hearts  glad  within 
us.  I  know  of  nothing  that  has  given  me  a  more  sweet  and  ten- 
der delight  than  the  greeting  of  a  little  child,  who,  leaving  his 
noisy  playmates,  ran  across  the  street  to  me,  and  taking  my  hand, 
which  he  could  barely  clasp  in  both  his  soft  little  ones,  looked  up 
in  my  face  with  an  expression  so  winning  and  affectionate,  that  I 
loved  him  at  once.  The  happy,  honest  farmers,  too,  spoke  to  us 
cheerfully  everywhere.  We  learned  a  lesson  from  all  this — we 
felt  that  not  a  word  of  kindness  is  ever  wasted,  that  a  simple 
friendly  glance  may  cheer  the  spirit  and  warm  the  lonely  heart, 
and  that  the  slightest  deed,  prompted  by  generous  sympathy,  be- 
comes a  living  joy  in  the  memory  of  the  receiver,  which  blesses 
unceasingly  him  who  bestowed  it. 

We  left  Zurich  the  same  afternoon,  to  walk  to  Stafa,  where  we 
were  told  the  poet  Freiligrath  resided.  The  road  led  along  the 
bank  of  the  lake,  v/hose  shores  sloped  gently  up  from  the  water, 
covered  with  gardens  and  farm-houses,  which,  with  the  bolder 
mountains  that  rose  behind  them,  made  a  combination  of  the  lovely 
and  grand,  on  which  the  eye  rested  with  rapture  and  delight. 
The  sweetest  cottafres  were  embowered  amoniii;  the  orchards,  and 
the  whole  country  bloomed  like  a  garden.  The  waters  of  the 
lake  are  of  a  pale,  transparent  green,  and  so  clear  that  we  could 
see  its  bottom  of  white  pebbles,  for  some  distance.  Here  and 
there  floated  a  quiet  boat  on  its  surface.  The  opposite  hills  were 
covered  with  a  soft  blue  haze,  and  white  villages  sat  along  the 
shore,  "  like  swans  among  the  reeds."  Behind,  we  saw  tho 
woody  range  of  the  Brunig  Alp.  The  people  bade  us  a  pleasan 
good  evening  ;  there  was  a  universal  air  of  cheerfulness  and  con 
tent  on  their  countenances. 

Towards  evening,  the  clouds  which  hung  in  the  south  the  whole 
day,  dispersed  a  little  and  we  could  see  the  Dodiberg  and  the 
Alps  of  Glarus.  As  sunset  drew  on,  the  broad  summits  of  snow 
and  the  clouds  which  weffe  rolled  around  them,  assumed  a  soft 


224  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


rosy  hue,  which  increased  in  brilliancy  as  the  light  of  clay  faded. 
The  rough,  icy  crags  and  snowy  steeps  were  fused  in  the  warm 
light  and  half  blended  with  the  bright  clouds.  This  blaze,  as  it 
were,  of  the  mountains  at  sunset,  is  called  the  Alp-gloiv,  and  ex- 
ceeds all  one's  highest  conceptions  of  Alpine  grandeur.  We 
watched  the  fading  glory  till  it  quite  died  away,  and  the  summits 
wore  a  livid,  ashy  hue,  like  the  mountains  of  a  world  wherein 
there  was  no  life.  In  a  few  minutes  more  the  dusk  of  twilight 
spread  over  the  scene,  the  boatmen  glided  home  over  the  still  lake 
and  the  herdsmen  drove  their  cattle  back  from  pasture  on  the 
slopes  and  meadows. 

On  inquiring  for  Freiligrath  at  Stafa,  we  found  he  had  removed 
to  Rapperschwyl,  some  distance  further.  As  it  was  already  late, 
we  waited  for  the  steamboat  which  leaves  Zurich  every  evening. 
It  came  along  about  eight  o'clock,  and  a  little  boat  carried  us  out 
through  rain  and  darkness  to  meet  it,  as  it  came  like  a  fiery-eyed 
monster  over  the  water.  We  stepped  on  board  the  "  Republican," 
and  in  half  an  hour  were  brought  to  the  wharf  at  Rapperschwyl. 

There  are  two  small  islands  in  the  lake,  one  of  which,  with  a 
little  chapel  rising  from  among  its  green  trees,  is  Ufnau,  the 
grave  of  Ulrich  von  Hutten,  one  of  the  fathers  of  the  German 
Reformation.  His  fiery  poems  have  been  the  source  from  which 
many  a  German  bard  has  derived  his  inspiration,  and  Freiligrath 
who  now  lives  in  sight  of  his  tomb,  has  published  an  indignant 
poem,  because  an  inn  with  gaming  tables  has  been  established  in 
tho  ruins  of  the  castle  near  Creuznach,  where  Hutten  found 
r^tucre  from  his  enemies  with  Franz  von  Sickincjen,  brother-in-law 
i/  "  Goetz  with  the  Iron  Hand."  The  monks  of  Einsiedeln,  to 
whom  Ufnau  belongs,  have  carefully  obliterated  all  traces  of  his 
giave,  so  that  the  exact  spot  is  not  known,  in  order  that  even  a, 
tombstone  might  be  denied  him  who  once  strove  to  overturn  their 
order.  It  matters  little  to  that  bold  spirit  whose  motto  was: 
"  The  die  is  cast — /  have  dared  it .'" — the  whole  island  is  his 
monument,  if  he  need  one. 

I  spent  the  whole  of  the  morning  with  Freiligrath,  the  poet, 
who  was  lately  banished  from  Germany  on  account  of  the  liberal 
principles  his  last  volume  contains.  He  lives  in  a  pleasant  coun- 
trv-house  on  the  Meyerberg    an  eminence  near  Rapperschwvl' 


THE  POET   FREILIGRATH.  225 


overlooking  a  glorious  prospect.  On  leaving  Frankfort,  R.  S. 
Willis  gave  me  a  letter  to  hinn,  and  I  was  glad  to  meet  with  a 
man  personally  whom  I  admired  so  much  through  his  writings, 
and  whose  boldness  in  speaking  out  against  the  tyranny  which 
his  country  suffers,  forrns  such  a  noble  contrast  to  the  cautious 
slowness  of  his  countrymen.  He  received  me  kindly  and  con- 
versed  much  upon  American  literature.  He  is  a  warm  admirer 
of  Bryant  and  Longfellow,  and  has  translated  many  of  their 
poems  into  German.  He  said  he  had  received  a  warm  invitation 
from  a  colony  of  Germans  in  Wisconsin,  to  join  them  and  enjoy 
that  freedom  which  his  native  land  denies,  but  that  his  circum- 
stances would  not  allow  it  at  present.  He  is  perhaps  thirty-five 
years  of  age.  His  brow  is  high  and  noble,  and  his  eyes,  which 
are  large  and  of  a  clear  gray,  beam  with  serious,  saddened  thought. 
His  long  chesnut  hair,  uniting  with  a  handsome  beard  and  mous- 
tache, gives  a  lion-like  dignity  to  his  energetic  countenance. 
His  talented  wife,  Ida  Freiligrath,  w^ho  shares  his  literary  labors, 
and  an  amiable  sister,  are  with  him  in  exile,  and  he  is  happier  in 
their  faithfulness  than  when  he  enjoyed  the  favors  of  a  corrupt 
king. 

We  crossed  the  long  bridge  from  Rapper,schwyl,  and  took  the 
road  over  the  mountain  opposite,  ascending  for  nearly  tuo  hours 
along  the  side,  with  glorious  views  of  the  Lake  of  Zurich  and 
the  mountains  which  enclose  it.  The  upper  and  lower  ends  of 
the  lake  were  completely  hid  by  the  storms,  which,  to  our  regret, 
veiled  the  Alps,  but  the  part  below  lay  spread  out  dim  and  grand, 
like  a  vast  picture.  It  rained  almost  constantly,  and  we  were 
obliged  occasionally  to  talve  shelter  in  the  pine  forests,  whenever 
a  heavier  cloud  passed  over.  The  road  was  lined  with  beggars, 
who  dropped  on  their  knees  in  the  rain  before  us,  or  placed  bars 
across  the  way,  and  then  took  them  down  again,  for  which  they 
demanded  money. 

At  length  we  reached  the  top  of  the  pass.  Many  pilgrims  to 
Einsiedeln  had  stopped  at  a  little  inn  there,  some  of  whom 
came  a  long  distance  to  pay  their  vows,  especially  as  the  next  day 
was  the  Ascension  day  of  the  Virgin,  whose  image  there  is  noted 
for  performing  many  miracles.  Passing  on,  we  crossed  a  wilci 
torrent  by  an  arch  called  the  "  Devil's  Bridge."     The  lofty,  ele* 

11* 


226  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


vated  plains  were  covei'ed  with  scanty  patches  of  grain  and  pota- 
toes, and  the  boys  tended  their  goats  on  the  grassy  slopes,  some- 
times trilling  or  yoilling  an  Alpine  melody.  An  hour's  walk 
brought  us  to  Einsiedeln,  a  small  town,  whose  only  attraction  is 
the  Abbey — after  Loretto,  in  Italy,  the  most  celebrated  resort  for 
pilgrims  in  Europe. 

We  entered  immediately  into  the  great  church.  The  gorgeous 
vaulted  roof  and  long  aisles  were  dim  with  the  early  evening; 
hundreds  of  worshippers  sat  around  the  sides,  or  kneeled  in 
groups  on  the  broad  stone  pavements,  chanting  over  their  Pater- 
nosters and  Ave  Marias  in  a  shrill,  monotonous  tone,  while  the 
holy  image  near  the  entrance  was  surrounded  by  persons,  many 
of  whom  came  in  the  hope  of  being  healed  of  some  disorder  under 
which  they  suffered.  I  could  not  distinctly  make  out  the  image, 
for  it  was  placed  back  within  the  grating,  and  a  strong  crimson 
lamn  behind  it  was  made  to  throw  the  light  around,  in  the  form 
of  a  glory.  Many  of  the  pilgrims  came  a  long  distance.  I  saw 
some  in  the  costume  of  the  Black  Forest,  and  others  who  appeared 
to  be  natives  of  the  Italian  Cantons ;  and  a  group  of  young  wo- 
men wearing  conical  fur  caps,  from  the  forests  of  Bregenz,  on 
the  Lake  of  Constance. 

I  was  astonished  at  the  splendor  of  this  church,  situated  in  a 
lonely  and  unproductive  Alpine  valley.  The  lofty  arches  of  the 
ceiling,  which  are  covered  with  superb  fresco  paintings,  rest  on 
enormous  pillars  of  granite,  and  every  image  and  shrine  is  richly 
ornamented  with  gold.  Some  of  the  chapels  were  filled  with  the 
remains  of  martyrs,  and  these  were  always  surrounded  with 
throngs  of  believers.  The  choir  was  closed  by  a  tall  iron  grating  ; 
a  single  lamp,  which  swung  from  the  roof,  enabled  me  to  see 
through  the  darkness,  that  though  much  more  rich  in  ornaments 
than  the  body  of  the  church,  it  w^as  less  grand  and  impressive. 
The  frescoes  which  cover  the  ceiling,  are  said  to  be  the  finest 
paintings  of  the  kind  in  Switzerland. 

In  the  morning  our  starting  was  delayed  by  the  rain,  and  we 
took  advantage  of  it  to  hear  mass  in  the  Abbey  and  enjoy  the 
heavenly  music.  The  latter  was  of  the  loftiest  kind  ;  there  was 
one  voice  among  the  singers  I  shall  not  soon  forget.  It  was  like 
the  warble  of  a  bird  who  sings  out  of  very  wantonness.     On  and 


ALPINE  SCENERY.  227 


on  it  sounded,  making  its  clear,  radiant  sweetness  heard  above 
the  chant  of  the  choir  and  the  thunder  of  the  orchestra.  Such  a 
rich,  varied  and  untiring  strain  of  melody  I  have  rarely  listened  to. 

When  the  service  ceased,  we  took  a  small  road  leading  to 
Schwytz.  We  had  now  fairly  entered  the  Alpine  region,  and 
our  first  task  was  to  cross  a  mountain.  This  having  been  done, 
we  kept  along  the  back  of  the  ridge  which  bounds  the  lake  of 
Zug  on  the  south,  terminating  in  the  well  known  Rossberg.  The 
scenery  became  wilder  with  every  step  The  luxuriant  fields  of 
herbage  on  the  mountains  were  spotted  with  the  picturesque  cha- 
lets of  the  hunters  and  Alp-herds  ;  cattle  and  goats  were  brows- 
ing along  the  declivities,  their  bells  tinkling  most  musically,  and 
the  little  streams  fell  in  foam  down  the  steeps.  We  here  began 
to  realize  our  anticipations  of  Swiss  scenery.  Just  on  the  other 
side  of  the  range,  along  which  v/e  traveled,  lay  the  little  lake  of 
Egeri  and  valley  of  Morgarten,  where  Tell  and  his  followers 
overcame  the  army  of  the  German  Emperor  ;  near  the  lake  of 
Lowertz,  we  found  a  chapel  by  the  roadside,  built  on  the  spot 
where  the  house  of  Werner  StaufFacher,  one  of  the  "three  men 
of  Grutli,"  formerly  stood.  It  bears  a  poetical  inscription  in  old 
German,  and  a  rude  painting  of  the  Battle  of  Morgarten. 

As  we  wound  around  the  lake  of  Lowertz,  we  saw  the  valley 
lyino-  between  the  Rossberg  and  the  Righi,  which  latter  mountain 
stood  full  in  view.  To  our  regret,  and  that  of  all  other  travelers, 
the  clouds  hung  low  upon  it,  as  they  had  done  for  a  week  at  least, 
and  there  was  no  prospect  of  a  change.  The  Rossberg,  from 
which  we  descended,  is  about  four  thousand  feet  in  height ;  a 
dark  brown  stripe  from  its  very  summit  to  the  valley  below,  shows 
the  track  of  the  avalanche  which,  in  1806,  overwhelmed  Goldau, 
and  laid  waste  the  beautiful  vale  of  Lowertz.  We  could  trace 
the  masses  of  rock  and  earth  as  far  as  the  foot  of  the  Righi. 
Four  hundred  and  fifty  persons  perished  by  this  catastrophe, 
which  was  so  sudden  that  in  five  minutes  the  whole  lovely  valley 
was  transformed  into  a  desolate  wilderness.  The  shock  was  so 
great  that  the  lake  of  Lowertz  overflowed  its  banks,  and  part  of 
the  village  of  Steinen  at  the   upper  end  was  destroyed  by  the 


waters. 


An  hour's, walk  through  a  blooming  Alpine  vale  brought  us  to 


228  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


the  little  town  of  Schwytz,  the  capital  of  the  Canton.  It  stands 
at  the  foot  of  a  rock-mountain,  in  shape  not  unlike  Gibraltar,  but 
double  its  height.  The  bare  and  rugged  summits  seem  to  hang 
directly  over  the  town,  but  the  people  dwell  below  without  fear, 
although  the  warning  ruins  of  Goldau  are  full  in  sight.  A  nar- 
row blue  line  at  the  end  of  the  valley  which  stretches  westward, 
maiks  the  lake  of  the  Four  Cantons.  Down  this  valley  we  hur- 
ried, that  we  miglit  not  miss  the  boat  which  plies  daily,  from  Lu 
zerne  to  Fluelen.  I  regretted  not  being  able  to  visit  Luzerne, 
I  had  a  letter  to  the  distinguished  Swiss  composer,  Schnyder  von 
Wartensee,  who  resides  there  at  present.  The  place  is  said  to 
present  a  most  desolate  appearance,  being  avoided  by  travelers, 
and  even  by  artisans,  so  that  business  of  all  kinds  has  almost  en- 
tirely ceased. 

At  the  little  town  of  Brunnen,  on  the  lake,  we  awaited  the 
coming  of  the  steamboat.  The  scenery  around  it  is  exceedingly 
grand.  Looking  down  towards  Luzerne,  we  could  see  the  dark 
mass  of  Mount  Pilatuson  one  side,  and  on  the  other  the  graceful 
outline  of  the  Righi,  still  wearing  his  hood  of  clouds.  We  put 
off  in  a  skiff  to  meet  the  boat,  with  two  Capuchin  friars  in  long 
brown  mantles  and  cowls,  carrying  ro«aries  at  their  girdles. 

Nearly  opposite  Brunnen  is  the  meadow  of  Griitli,  where  the 
union  of  the  Swiss  patriots  took  place,  and  the  bond  was  sealed 
that  enabled  them  to  cast  off  their  chains.  It  is  a  little  green 
slope  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  between  the  two  Cantons  of 
Uri  and  Unterwalden,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  precipices.  A 
little  crystal  spring  in  the  centre  is  believed  by  the  common  peo- 
ple to  have  gushed  up  on  the  spot  where  the  three  "  linked  the 
hands  that  made  them  free."  It  is  also  a  popular  belief  that  they 
slumber  in  a  rocky  cavern  near  the  spot,  and  that  they  will  arise 
and  come  forth  when  the  liberties  of  Swhzerland  are  in  danger. 
She  stands  at  present  greatly  in  need  of  a  new  triad  to  restore  the 
ancient  harmony. 

We  passed  this  glorious  scene,  almost  the  only  green  spot  on 
the  bleak  mountain-side,  and  swept  around  the  base  of  the  Axen- 
berg,  at  whose  foot,  in  a  rocky  cave,  stands  the  chapel  of  William 
Tell.     This  is  built  on  the  spot  where  he  leaped  from  Gessler'a 


THE  FOOTSTEPS   OF   TELL.  229 

boat  during  tlie  storm.  It  sits  at  the  base  of  the  rock,  on  the 
water's  edge,  and  can  be  seen  far  over  the  waves.  The  x\lps, 
'vhose  eternal  snows  are  lifted  dazzling  to  the  sky,  complete  the 
.grandeur  of  a  scene  so  hallowed  by  the  footsteps  of  freedom. 
The  grand  and  lonely  solemnity  of  the  landscape  impressed  me 
<vith  an  awe.  like  that  one  feels  when  standing  in  a  miglity  cathe- 
dral, when  the  aisles  are  dim  with  twilight.  And  how  full  of  in- 
terest to  a  citizen  of  young  and  free  America  is  a  shrine  where 
the  votaries  of  Liberty  have  turned  to  gather  strength  and  cour- 
age, through  the  storms  and  convulsions  of  five  hundred  years  ! 

We  stopped  at  the  village  of  Fluelen,  at  the  head  of  the  lake, 
and  walked  on  to  Altorf,  a  distance  of  half  a  league.  Here,  in 
the  market-place,  is  a  tower  said  to  be  built  on  the  spot  where 
the  linden  tree  stood,  under  which  the  child  of  Tell  was  placed, 
while,  about  a  hundred  yards  distant,  is  a  fountain  with  Tell's 
statue,  on  the  spot  from  whence  he  shot  the  apple.  If  these 
localities  are  correct,  he  must  indeed  have  been  master  of  the 
cross-bow.  The  tower  is  covered  with  rude  paintings  of  the 
principal  events  in  the  history  of  Swiss  liberty.  I  viewed  these 
scenes  with  double  interest  from  having  read  Schiller's  "  Wilhelm 
Tell,"  one  of  the  most  splendid  tragedies  ever  written.  The 
beautiful  reply  of  his  boy,  when  he  described  to  him  the  condition 
of  the  "land  where  there  are  no  mountains,"  was  sounding  in 
my  ears  during  the  whole  day's  journey  : 

"  Father,  I'd  feel  oppressed  in  that  broad  land, 
I'd  rather  dwell  beneath  the  avalanche !" 

The  little  village  of  Burglen,  whose  spire  we  saw  above  tin. 
forest,  in  a  glen   near  by,  was  the   birth-place  of  Tell,  and  t' 
place  where  his  dwelling  stood,  is  now  marked  by  a  small  chapr 
In  the  Schachen,  a  noisy  mountain  stream  that   comes  down  v 
join  the  Reuss,  he  was  drowned,  when  an  old  man,  in  attc.nptini^ 
to  rescue  a  child  who  had  fallen  in — a  death  worthy  of  the  hero! 
We  bestowed  a  blessing  on  his  memory  in  passing,  and  then  fol 
lowed  the  banks  of  the  rapid  Reuss.     Twilight  was  gathering  in 
the  deep  Alpine  glen,  and  the  mountains  on  each  side,  half-seen 
through  the  mist,  looked  like  vast,  awful  phantoms.     Soon  they 


230  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


darkened  to  black,  indistinct  masses  ;  all  was  silent  except  the 
deepened  roar  of  the  falling  floods;  dark  clouds  brooded  above 
us  like  the  outspread  wings  of  night,  and  we  were  glad,  when  the 
little  village  of  Amstegg  was  reached,  and  the  parlor  of  the  inn 
opened  to  us  a  more  cheerful,  if  not  so  romantic  scene. 


THE  HIGH  ALPS.  23. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

PASSAGE    OF    THE    ST.    GOTHARD   AND    DESCENT   INTO    ITALY. 

Leaving  Amstegg,  I  passed  the  whole  day  among  snowy,  sky- 
piercing  Alps,  torrents,  chasms  and  clouds!  The  clouds  ap- 
peared to  be  breaking  up  as  we  set  out,  and  the  white  top  of  the 
Reussberg  was  now  and  then  visible  in  the  sky.  Just  above  the 
village  are  the  remains  of  Zwing  Uri,  the  castle  begun  by  the 
tyrant  Gessler,  for  the  complete  subjugation  of  the  canton.  Fol- 
lowing the  Reuss  up  through  a  narrow  valley,  we  passed  the 
Bristenstock,  which  lifts  its  jagged  crags  nine  thousand  feet  in 
the  air,  while  on  the  other  side  stand  the  snowy  summits  which 
lean  towards  the  Rhone  Glacier  and  St.  Gothard.  From  the 
deep  glen  where  the  Reuss  foamed  down  towards  the  Lake  of  the 
Forest  Cantons,  the  mountains  rose  with  a  majestic  sweep  so 
far  into  the  sky  that  the  brain  grew  almost  dizzy  in  following 
their  outlines.  Woods,  chalets  and  slopes  of  herbage  covered 
their  bases,  where  the  mountain  cattle  and  goats  were  browsing, 
while  the  herd-boys  sang  their  native  melodies  or  woke  the  ring- 
ing echoes  with  the  loud,  sweet  sounds  of  their  wooden  horns ; 
higher  up,  the  sides  were  broken  into  crags  and  covered  with 
stunted  pines;  then  succeeded  a  belt  of  bare  rock  with  a  little 
snow  lying  in  the  crevices,  and  the  summits  of  dazzling  white 
looked  out  from  the  clouds  nearly  three-fourths  the  height  of  the 
zenith.  Sometimes  when  the  vale  was  filled  with  clouds,  it  was 
startling  to  see  them  parting  around  a  solitary  summit,  apparent- 
ly isolated  in  the  air  at  an  immense  height,  for  the  mountain  to 
which  it  belonged  was  hidden  to  the  very  base ! 

The  road  passed  from  one  side  of  the  valley  to  the  other,  cross- 
ing the  Reuss  on  bridges  sometimes  ninety  feet  high.  After  three 
or  four  hours  walking,  we  reached  a  frightful  pass  called  the 
Schollenen.     So  narrow  is  the  defile  that  before  reaching  it,  the 


232  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


road  seemed  to  enter  directly  into  the  mountain.  Precipices  a 
thousand  feet  high  tower  above,  and  the  stream  roars  and  boils  in 
the  black  depth  below.  The  road  is  a  wonder  of  art ;  it  winds 
around  the  edge  of  horrible  chasms  or  is  carried  on  lofty  arches 
across,  with  sometimes  a  hold  apparently  so  frail  that  one  invo- 
luntarily shudders.  At  a  place  called  the  Devil's  Bridge,  the 
Reuss  leaps  about  seventy  feet  in  three  or  four  cascades,  sending 
up  continually  a  cloud  of  spray,  while  a  wind  created  by  the  fall, 
blows  and  whirls  around,  with  a  force  that  nearly  lifts  one  from 
his  feet.  Wordsworth  has  described  the  scene  in  the  follow- 
ing lines : 

"  Plunge  with  the  Reuss  embrowned  by  terror's  breath, 
Where  danger  roofs  the  narrow  walks  of  Death  ; 
By  floods  that,  thundering  from  their  dizzy  height, 
Swell  more  gigantic  on  the  steadfast  sight, 
Black,  drizzling  crags,  that,  beaten  by  the  din, 
Vibrate,  as  if  a  voice  complained  within, 
Loose  hanging  rocks,  the  Day's  blessed  eye  that  hide, 
And  crosses  reared  to  Death  on  every  side!" 

Beyond  the  Devil's  Bridge,  the  mountains  which  nearly  touch- 
ed before,  interlock  into  each  other,  and  a  tunnel  three  hundred 
and  seventy-five  feet  long  leads  through  the  rock  into  the  vale 
of  Urseren,  surrounded  by  the  Upper  Alps.  The  little  town  o'' 
Andermatt  lies  in  the  middle  of  this  valley,  which  with  the  peak 
around  is  covered  with  short,  yellowish-brown  grass.  We  mt 
near  Amstegg  a  little  Italian  boy  walking  home,  from  Germany, 
quite  alone  and  without  money,  for  we  saw  him  give  his  last 
kreutzer  to  a  blind  beggar  along  the  road.  We  therefore  took 
him  with  us,  as  he  was  afraid  to  cross  the  St.  Gothard  alone. 

After  refreshing  ourselves  at  Andermatt,  we  started,  five  in 
number,  including  a  German  student,  for  the  St.  Gothard.  Behind 
the  village  of  Hospiz,  which  stands  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley 
leading  to  Realp  and  the  Furca  pass,  the  way  commences,  wind- 
ing backwards  and  forwards,  higher  and  higher,  through  a  valley 
covered  with  rocks,  with  the  mighty  summits  of  the  Alps  around, 
untenanted  save  by  the  chamois  and  mountain  eagle.  Not  a  tree 
was  to  be  seen.  The  sides  of  the  mountains  were  covered  with 
loose  rocks  waiting  f(?^  the  next  torrei::    o  wash  them  down,  and 


ST.  GOTHARD.  233 


the  tops  were  robed  in  eternal  snow.  A  thick  cloud  rolled  down 
over  us  as  we  went  on,  following  the  diminishing  brooks  to  their 
•snowy  source  in  the  peak  of  St.  Gothard.  We  cut  off  the  bends 
of  the  road  by  footpaths  up  the  rocks,  which  we  ascended  in  sin- 
gle  filn,  one  of  the  Americans  going  ahead  and  little  Pietro  with 
his  staff  and  bundle  bringing  up  the  rear.  The  rarefied  air  wo 
breathed,  seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  was  like  exhilarating 
gas.  We  felt  no  fatigue,  but  ran  and  shouted  and  threw  snow- 
balls, in  the  middle  of  August ! 

After  three  hours'  walk  we  reached  the  two  clear  and  silent 
lakes  which  send  their  waters  to  the  Adilatic  and  the  North  Sea. 
Here,  as  we  looked  down  the  Italian  side,  the  sky  became  clear; 
we  saw  the  top  of  St.  Golhard  many  thousand  feet  above,  ana 
stretching  to  the  south,  the  summits  of  the  mountains  which  guard 
the  vales  of  the  Ticino  and  the  Adda.  The  former  monastery 
has  been  turned  into  an  inn;  there  is,  however,  a  kind  of  church 
attached,  attended  by  a  single  monk.  It  was  so  cold  that  although 
late,  we  determined  to  descend  to  the  first  village.  The  Italian 
side  is  very  steep,  and  the  road,  called  the  Via  Trimola,  is  like 
a  thread  dropped  down  and  constantly  doubling  back  upon  itself. 
The  deep  chasms  were  filled  with  snow,  although  exposed  to  the 
full  force  of  the  sun,  and  for  a  long  distance  there  was  scarcely 
a  sign  of  vegetation.  , 

We  thought  as  we  went  down,  that  every  step  was  bringing 
us  nearer  to  a  sunnier  land — that  the  glories  of  Italy,  which  had 
so  long  lain  in  the  airy  background  of  the  future,  would  soon 
spread  themselves  before  us  in  their  real  or  imagined  beauty. 
Reaching  at  dusk  the  last  height  above  the  vale  of  the  Ticino,  we 
saw  the  little  village  of  Airolo  with  its  musical  name,  lying  in  a 
hollow  of  the  mountains.  A  few  minutes  of  leaping,  sliding  and 
rolling,  took  us  down  the  grassy  declivity,  &nd  we  found  we  had 
tlescended  from  the  top  in  an  hour  and  a  half,  although  the  dis- 
tance  by  the  road  is  nine  miles  I  I  need  not  say  how  glad  we 
were  to  relieve  our  trembling  knees  and  exhausted  limbs. 

I  have  endeavored  several  times  to  give  some  idea  of  the  sub- 
limity of  the  Alps,  but  words  seem  almost  powerless  to  measure 
these  mighty  mountains.  No  effort  of  the  imagination  could  pos- 
sibly equal  their  real  grandeur.   I  wish  also  to  describe  the  feeh 


234  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


ings  inspired  by  being  among  them, — feelings  which  can  best  oe 
expressed  through  the  warmer  medium  of  poetry. 

SCNG  OF  THE  ALP. 
I. 

I  sit  alofl  on  my  thunder  tlirone, 

And  my  voice  of  dread  the  nations  own 

As  I  speak  in  storm  below  ! 
The  valleys  quake  with  a  breathless  fear, 
When  I  hurl  in  wrath  my  icy  spear 

And  shake  ray  locks  of  snow  ! 
When  the  avalanche  forth  like  a  tiger  leaps, 

How  the  vassal -mountains  quiver  ! 
And  the  storm  that  sweeps  through  the  airy  deeps 

Makes  the  hoary  pine-wood  shiver  ! 
Above  them  all,  in  a  brighter  air, 
I  lift  my  forehead  proud  and  bare, 
And  the  lengthened  sweep  of  my  forest-robe 
Trails  down  to  the  low  and  captured  globe, 
Till  its  borders  touch  the  dark  green  wave 
In  whose  soundless  depths  my  feet  I  lave. 
The  winds,  unprisoned,  around  me  blow, 
And  terrible  tempests  whirl  the  snow  ; 
Rocks  from  their  caverued  beds  are  torn, 
And  the  blasted  forest  to  heaven  is  borne  j 
High  through'  the  din  of  the  stormy  band, 
Like  misty  giants  the  mountains  stand, 
And  their  thunder-revel  o'er-sounds  the  woe, 
That  cries  from  the  desolate  vales  below  ! 
I  part  the  clouds  with  my  lifted  crown, 
Till  the  sun-ray  slants  on  the  glaciers  down, 
And  trembling  men.  in  the  valleys  pale. 
Rejoice  at  the  gleam  of  my  icy  mail ! 

II. 

I  wear  a  crown  of  the  sunbeam's  gold, 
With  glacier-gems  on  my  forehead  old — 

A  monarch  crowned  by  God  ! 
What  son  of  the  servile  earth  may  dare 
Such  signs  of  a  regal  power  to  wear, 

While  chained  to  her  darkened  sod? 
I  know  of  a  nobler  and  grander  lore 
Than  Time  records  on  his  crumbling  pages. 


SONG   OF   THE   ALP.  235 

And  the  soul  of  my  solitude  teaches  more 

Than  the  gathered  deeds  of  perished  ages  ! 
For  I  have  ruled  since  Time  began 
And  wear  no  fetter  made  by  man. 
I  scorn  the  ccward  and  craven  race 
Who  dwell  around  my  mighty  base, 
For  they  leave  the  lessons  I  grandly  gave 
And  bend  to  the  yoke  of  the  crouching  slave. 
I  shout  aloud  to  the  chainless  skies ; 
The  stream  through  its  falling  foam  replies. 
And  my  voice,  like  the  sound  of  the  surging  sea, 
To  the  nations  thunders  :  "  I  am  free .'" 
I  spoke  to  Tell  wlien  a  tyrant's  hand 
Lay  heavy  and  hard  on  his  native  land, 
And  the  spirit  whose  glory  from  mine  he  won 
Blessed  the  Alpine  dwellers  with  Freedom's  sun  I 
The  student-boy  on  the  Gmunden-plain 
Heard  my  solemn  voice,  but  he  fought  in  vain  ; 
{  called  from  the  crags  of  the  Passeir-glen, 
When  the  despot  stood  in  my  realm  again, 
And  Hofer  sprang  at  the  proud  command 
And  roused  the  men  of  the  Tyrol  land  ! 

in. 

I  struggle  up  to  the  dim  blue  heaven, 

From  the  world,  far  down  in  whose  breast  are  driven 

The  props  of  my  pillared  throne ; 
And  the  rosy  fires  of  morning  glow 
Like  a  glorious  thought,  on  my  brow  of  snow. 

While  the  vales  are  dark  and  lone ! 
Ere  twilight  summons  the  first  faint  star. 
I  seem  to  the  nations  who  dwell  afar 
Like  a  shadowy  cloud,  whose  every  fold 
The  sunset  dyes  with  its  purest  gold, 
And  the  soul  mounts  up  through  that  gateway  fair 
To  try  its  wino?fe  in  a  loftier  air  ! 
The  finger  of  God  on  my  brow  is  pressed — 
His  spirit  beats  in  my  giant  breast, 
And  I  breathe,  as  the  endless  ages  roll, 
His  silent  words  to  the  eager  soul  I 
I  prompt  the  thoughts  of  the  mighty  mind, 
Who  leaves  his  century  far  behind 
And  speaks  from  the  Future's  sun-lit  snow 
To  the  Present^  that  sleeps  in  its  gloom  belcw ! 


236  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


I  stand,  unchanged,  in  creation's  youth — 
A  glorious  type  of  Eternal  Truth, 
That,  free  and  pure,  from  its  native  skies 
Shines  through  Oppression's  veil  of  lies, 
And  lights  the  world's  long-fettered  sod 
With  thoughts  of  Freedom  and  of  God  ! 


'e' 


When,  at  night,  I  looked  out  of  my  chamber- window,  the  silver 
moon  of  Italy,  (for  we  fancied  that  her  light  was  softer  and  that 
the  skies  were  already  bluer)  hung  trembling  above  the  fields  of 
snow  that  stretched  in  their  wintry  brilliance  along  the  moun- 
tains around.  I  heard  the  roar  of  the  Ticino  and  the  deepened 
sound  of  falling  cascades,  and  thought,  if  I  were  to  take  those 
waters  for  my  guide,  to  what  glorious  places  they  would  lead  me  ! 

We  left  Airolo  early  the  next  morning,  to  continue  our  journey 
down  the  valley  of  the  Ticino.  The  mists  and  clouds  of  Swit- 
zerland were  exchanged  for  a  sky  of  the  purest  blue,  and  we  felt, 
for  the  first  time  in  ten  days,  uncomfortably  warm.  The  moun- 
tains which  flank  the  Alps  on  this  side,  are  still  giants — lofty  and 
bare,  and  covered  with  snow  in  many  places.  The  limit  of  the. 
German  dialect  is  on  the  summit  of  St.  Gothard,  and  the  peasants 
saluted  us  with  a  "  buon  giorno,^^  as  they  passed.  This,  with  the 
clearness  of  the  skies  and  the  warmth  of  the  air,  made  us  feel 
that  Italy  was  growing  nearer. 

The  mountains  are  covered  with  forests  of  dark  pine,  and  many 
beautiful  cascades  come  tumbling  over  the  rocks  in  their,  haste  to 
join  the  Ticino.  One  of  these  was  so  strangely  beautiful,  that  I 
cannot  pass  it  without  a  particular  description.  We  saw  it  soon 
after  leaving  Airolo,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley.  A  stream 
of  considerable  size  comes  down  the  mountain,  leaping  from  crag 
to  crag  till  within  forty  or  fifty  feet  of  the  bottom,  where  it  is 
caught  in  a  hollow  rock,  and  flung  upwards  into  the  air,  forming 
a  beautiful  arch  as  it  falls  out  into  the  valley.  As  it  is  whirled 
up  thus,  feathery  curls  of  spray  are  constantly  driven  off  and 
seem  to  wave  round  it  like  the  fibres  on  an  ostrich  plume.  The 
sun  shining  through,  gave  it  a  sparry  brilliance  which  was  per- 
fectly magnificent.  If  I  were  an  artist,  I  would  give  much  for 
such  a  new  form  of  beauty. 

On  our  first   day's  journey  we  passed  through  two  terrific 


DESCENT    OF   THE   TICINO.  237 

mountain  gorges,  almost  equalling  in  grandeur  the  defile  of  the 
"  Devil's  Bridge."  The  Ticino,  in  its  course  to  Lago  Maggiore 
has  to  make  a  descent  of  nearly  three  tiiousand  feet,  passing 
through  three  valleys,  which  lie  like  terraces,  one  below  the 
other.  In  its  course  from  one  to  the  other,  it  has  to  force  its  way 
down  in  twenty  cataracts  through  a  cleft  in  the  mountains.  The 
road,  constructed  with  the  utmost  labor,  threads  these  dark  chasms, 
sometimes  carriea  in  a  tunnel  through  the  rock,  sometimes  pass- 
ing on  arches  above  the  boiling  flood.  The  precipices  of  bare 
rock  rise  far  above  and  render  the  way  difficult  and  dangerous. 
1  here  noticed  another  very  beautiful  effect  of  the  water,  perhaps 
attributable  to  some  mineral  substance  it  contained.  The  spray 
and  foam  thrown  up  in  the  dashing  of  the  vexed  current,  was  of 
a  light,  delicate  pink,  although  the  stream  itself  was  a  soft  blue ; 
and  the  contrast  of  these  two  colors  was  very  remarkable. 

As  we  kept  on,  however,  there  was  a  very  perceptible  change 
in  the  scenery.  The  gloomy  pines  disappeared  and  the  moun- 
tains were  covered,  in  their  stead,  with  picturesque  chesnut  trees, 
with  leaves  of  a  shining  green.  The  grass  and  vegetation  was 
much  more  luxuriant  than  on  the  other  side  of  the  Alps,  and  fields 
of  maize  and  mulberry  orchards  covered  the  valley.  We  saw  the 
people  busy  at  work  reeling  silk  in  the  villages.  Every  mile  we 
advanced  made  a  sensible  change  in  the  ves^etation.  The  ches- 
nuts  were  larger,  the  maize  higher,  the  few  straggling  grape-j'ines 
increased  into  bovvers  and  vineyards,  while  the  gardens  were 
filled  with  plum,  pear  and  fig-trees,  and  the  stands  of  delicious  fruit 
which  we  saw  in  the  villages,  gave  us  promise  of  the  luxuriance 
that  was  to  come. 

The  vineyards  are  much  more  beautiful  than  the  German  fields 
of  stakes.  The  vines  are  not  trimmed,  but  grow  from  year  to 
year  over  a  frame  higher  than  the  head,  supported  through  the 
whole  field  on  stone  pillars.  They  interlace  and  form  a  complete 
leafv  screen,  while  the  clusters  hansr  below.  The  light  came 
dimly  through  the  green,  transparent  leaves,  and  nothing  was 
wanting  to  make  them  real  bovvers  of  Arcadia.  Although  we 
were  still  in  Switzerland,  the  people  began  to  have  that  lazy,  indo- 
lent 'ook  which  characterizes  the  Italians  ;  most  of  the  occupa- 
tions were  carried  on  in  the  open  air,  and  brown-robed,  sandalled 


238  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


friars  were  going  about  from  house   to  house,   collecting   money 
and  provisions  for  their  support. 

We  passed  Faido  and  Giornico,  near  which  last  village  are  the 
remains  of  an  old  castle,  supposed  to  have  been  built  by  the  an- 
cient Gauls,  and  stopped  for  the  night  at  Cresciano,  which  being 
entirely  Italian,  we  had  an  opportunity  t-o  put  in  practice  the  few 
words  we  had  picked  up  from  Pietro.  The  little  fellow  parted 
from  us  with  regret  a  few  hours  before,  at  Biasco,  where  he  had 
relations.  The  rustic  landlord  at  Cresciano  was  an  honest  young 
fellow,  who  tried  to  serve  us  as  well  as  he  could,  but  we  made 
some  ludicrous  mistakes  through  our  ignorance  of  the  language. 

Three  hours'  walk  brought  us  to  Bellinzona,  the  capital  of  thf» 
canton.  Before  reaching  it,  our  road  joined  that  of  the  Spliigen 
which  comes  down  through  the  valley  of  Bernardino.  From  the 
bridge  where  the  junction  takes  place  we  had  a  triple  view,  whose 
grandeur  took  me  by  surprise,  even  after  coming  from  Switzer- 
land. We  stood  at  the  union  of  three  valleys — that  leading  to 
St.  Gothard,  terminated  by  the  glaciers  of  the  Bernese  Oberland, 
tliat  running  off  obliquely  to  the  Spliigen,  and  finally  the  broad 
vale  of  the  Ticino,  extending  to  Lago  Maggiore,  whose  purple 
mountains  closed  the  vista.  Each  valley  was  perhaps  two  miles 
broad  and  from  twenty  to  thirty  long,  and  the  mountains  that  en- 
closed them  from  five  to  seven  thousand  feet  in  height,  so  you 
may  perhaps  form  some  idea  what  a  view  down  three  such  ave- 
nue? in  this  Alpine  temple  would  be.  Bellinzona  is  romantically 
situated,  on  a  slight  eminence,  with  three  castles  to  defend  it,  v.ith 
tho!^e  square  turreted  towers  and  battlements,  which  remind  one 
involuntarily  of  the  days  of  the  Goths  and  Vandals. 

We  left  Bellinzona  at  noon,  and  saw,  soon  after,  from  an  emi- 
nence, the  blue  line  of  Lao;o  MaQ-o-iore  stretched  across  the  bottom 
of  the  valley.  We  saw  sunset  fade  away  over  the  lake,  but  it 
was  clouded,  and  did  not  realize  my  ideal  of  such  a  scene  in  Italy. 
A  band  of  wild  Italians  paraded  up  and  down  the  village,  draw- 
ing o«e  of  their  number  in  a  hand-cart.  They  made  a  great 
noise  with  a  drum  and  trumpet,  and  were  received  everywhere 
with  shouts  of  laughter.  A  great  jug  of  wine  was  not  wanting, 
and  the  whole  seemed  to  me  a  very  charasteristic  scene. 

We  were  ear^/  awakened  at  Magadino,  at  the  head  of  Lago 


AN  ITALIAN   LAKE.  239 


Maggiore,  and  after  swallowing  a  hasty  breakfast,  went  on  board 
the  steamboat  "  San  Carlo,"  for  Sesto  Calende.  We  got  under 
way  at  six  o'clock,  and  were  soon  in  motion  over  the  crystal  mir- 
ror. The  water  is  of  the  most  lovely  green  hue,  and  so  transpa- 
rent that  we  seemed  to  be  floating  in  mid-air.  Another  heaven 
arched  far  below  us  ;  other  chains  of  mountains  joined  their  bases 
to  those  which  surrounded  the  lake,  and  the  mirrored  cascades 
leaped  upward  to  meet  their  originals  at  the  surface.  It  may  be 
because  I  have  seen  it  more  recently,  that  the  water  of  Lago 
Maggiore  appears  to  be  the  most  beautiful  in  the  world.  I  was 
delighted  with  the  Scotch  lakes,  and  enraptured  with  the  Traun- 
see  and  "Zurich's  waters,"  but  this  last  exceeds  them  both.  I 
am  now  incapable  of  any  stronger  feeling,  until  I  see  the  Egean 
from  the  Grecian  Isles. 

The  morning  was  cloudy,  and  the  wjiite  wreaths  hung  low  on 
the  mountains,  whose  rocky  sides  were  covered  every  where  with 
the  rank  and  luxuriant  growth  of  this  climate.  As  we  advanced 
further  over  this  glorious  mirror,  the  houses  became  more  Italian- 
like ;  the  lower  stories  rested  on  arched  passages,  and  the  win- 
dows were  open,  without  glass,  while  in  the  gardens  stood  the 
solemn,  graceful  cypress,  and  vines,  heavy  with  ripening  grapes, 
hung  from  bough  to  bough  through  the  mulberry  orchards. 
Half-way  down,  in  a  broad  bay,  which  receives  the  waters  of  a 
stream  that  comes  down  with  the  Simplon,  are  the  celebrated 
Borromean  Islands.  They  are  four  in  number,  and  seem  to  float 
like  fairy  creations  on  the  water,  while  the  lofty  hills  form  a 
background  whose  grandeur  enhances  by  contrast  their  exquisite 
beauty.  There  was  something  in  the  scene  that  reminded  me  of 
Claude  Melnotte's  description  of  his  home,  by  Bulwer,  and  like 
the  lady  of  Lyons,  1  answer  readily,  "  I  like  the  picture." 

On  passing  by  Isola  Mad  re,  we  could  see  the  roses  in  its  ter- 
raced gardens  and  the  broad-leaved  aloes  clinging  to  the  rocks. 
Isola  Bella,  the  loveliest  of  them  all,  as  its  name  denotes,  was  far- 
ther off;  it  rose  like  a  pyramid  from  the  water,  terrace  above  ter- 
race to  the  summit,  and  its  gardens  of  never  fading  foliao-e,  with 
the  glorious  panorama  around,  might  make  it  a  paradise,  if  life 
were  to  be  dreamed  away.  On  the  northern  side  of  the  bay  lies  a 
large  town  (I  forget  its  name,)  with  a  lofty  Romanesque  tower, 


240  lEWS  A-FOOT. 


and  noble  mountains  sweep  around  as  if  to  shut  out  the  world 
from  such  a  scene.  The  sea  was  perfectly,  calm,  and  groves  and 
gardens  slept  mirrored  in  the  dark  green  wave,  while  the  Alps 
rose  afar  through  the  dim,  cloudy  air.  Towards  the  other  end 
the  hills  sink  lower,  and  slope  off  into  the  plains  of  Lombardy. 
Near  Arena,  on  the  western  side,  is  a  large  monastery,  overlook- 
ing the  lower  part  of  the  lake.  Beside  it,  on  a  hill,  is  a  colossal 
statue  of  San  Carlo  Borromeo,  who  gave  his  name  to  the  lovely 
islands  above. 

After  a  seven  hours'  passage,  we  ran  into  Sesto  Calende,  at  the 
foot  of  the  lake.  Here,  passengers  and  baggage  were  tumbled 
promiscuously  on  shore,  the  latter  gathered  into  the  office  to  be 
examined,  and  the  former  left  at  liberty  to  ramble  about  an  hour 
until  their  passports  could  be  signed.  We  employed  the  time  in 
trying  the  flavor  of  the*  grapes  and  peaches  of  Lombardy,  and 
looking  at  the  groups  of  travelers  who  had  come  down  from  the 
Alps  with  the  annual  avalanche  at  this  season.  The  custom 
house  officers  were  extremely  civil  and  obliging,  as  they  did  not 
think  necessary  to  examine  our  knapsacks,  and  our  passports  be- 
ing soon  signed,  we  were  at  liberty  to  enter  again  into  the  do- 
minions of  His  Majesty  of  Austria.  Our  companion,  the  German, 
whose  feet  could  carry  him  no  further,  took  a  seat  on  the  top  of 
a  diligence  for  Milan  ;  we  left  Sesto  Calende  on  foot,  and  plunged 
into  the  cloud  of  dust  which  was  whirling  towards  the  capital  of 
Northern  Italy. 

Being  now  really  in  the  "  sunny  land,"  we  looked  on  the 
scenery  with  a  deep  mterest.  The  first  thing  that  struck  me 
was  a  resemblance  to  America  in  the  fields  of  Indian  corn,  and 
the  rank  growth  of  weeds  by  the  roadside.  The  mulberry  trees 
and  hedges,  too,  looked  quite  familiar,  coming  as  we  did,  from 
fenceless  and  hedgeless  Germany.  But  here  the  resemblance 
ceased.  The  people  were  coarse,  ignorant  and  savage-looking, 
the  villages  remarkable  for  nothing  except  the  contrast  between 
splendid  churches  and  miserable,  dirty  houses,  while  the  luxuri- 
ous palaces  and  grounds  of  the  rich  noblemen  formed  a  still 
greater  contrast  to  the  poverty  of  the  people.  I  noticed  also  that 
if  the  latter  are  as  lazy  as  they  are  said  to  be,  they  make  their 
horses  work  for  them,  as  in  a  walk  ol  i  few  hours  yesterday  after 


A   CHEATING   LANDLORD.  241 

noon,  we  saw  two  horses  drawing  heavy  loads,  drop  down  appa- 
rently dead,  and  several  others  seemed  nearly  ready  to  do  the 
same. 

We  spent  the  night  at  the  little  village  of  Casina,  about  sixteen 
miles  from  Milan,  and  here  made  our  first  experience  in  the  hon- 
esty of  Italian  inns.  We  had  taken  the  precaution  to  inquire  be- 
forehand the  price  of  a  bed  ;  but  it  seemed  unnecessary  and  un- 
pleasant, as  well  as  evincing  a  mistrustful  spirit,  to  do  the  same 
with  every  article  we  asked  for,  so  we  concluded  to  leave  it  to  the 
host's  conscience  not  to  overcharge  us.  Imagine  our  astonish- 
ment, however,  when  at  starting,  a  bill  was  presented  to  us,  in 
which  the  smallest  articles  were  set  down  at  three  or  four  times 
their  value.  We  remonstrated,  but  to  little  purpose  ;  the  fellow 
knew  scarcely  any  French,  and  we  as  little  Italian,  so  rather  than 
lose  time  or  temper,  we  paid  what  he  demanded  and  went  on, 
leaving  him  to  laugh  at  the  successful  imposition.  The  experi- 
ence was  of  value  to  us,  however,  and  it  may  serve  as  a  warning 
to  some  future  traveler. 

About  noon,  the  road  turned  into  a  broad  and  beautiful  ave- 
nue of  poplars,  down  which  we  saw,  at  a  distance,  the  triumphal 
arch  terminating  the  Simplon  road,  which  we  had  followed  from 
Sesto  Calende.  Beyond  it  rose  the  slight  and  airy  pinnacle  of 
the  Duomo.  We  passed  by  the  exquisite  structure,  gave  up  our 
passports  at  the  gates,  traversed  the  broad  Piazza  d'Armi,  and 
found  ourselves  at  liberty  to  choose  one  of  the  dozen  streets  that 
led  into  the  heart  of  the  city. 

12 


vio  /lEV/S  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER     XXXI. 

MILAN. 

Aug.  21.— While  finding  our  way  at  random  to  the  "  Pension 
Suisse,"  whither  we  had  been  directed  by  a  German  gentleman, 
we  were  agreeably  impressed  with  the  gaiety  and  bustle  of  Milan. 
The  shops  and  stores  are  all  open  to  the  street,  so  that  the  city 
resembles  a  great  bazaar.  It  has  an  odd  look  to  see  blacksmiths, 
tailors  and  shoemakers  working  unconcernedly  in  the  open  air, 
with  crowds  continually  passing  before  them.  The  streets  are 
filled  with  venders  of  fruit,  who  call  out  the  names  with  a  long, 
distressing  cry,  like  that  of  a  person  in  great  agony.  Organ- 
grinders  parade  constantly  about  and  snatches  of  songs  are  heard 
among  the  gay  crowd,  on  every  side. 

In  this  lively,  noisy  Italian  city,  nearly  all  there  is  to  see  may 
be  comprised  in  four  things  :  the  Duomo,  the  triumphal  arch  over 
the  Simplon,  La  Scala  and  the  Picture  Gallery.  The  first  alone 
is  more  interesting  than  many  an  entire  city.  We  went  there 
yesterday  afternoon  soon  after  reaching  here.  It  stands  in  an 
irregular  open  place,  closely  hemmed  in  by  houses  on  two  sides, 
so  that  it  can  be  seen  to  advantage  from  only  one  point.  It  is  a 
mixture  of  the  Gothic  and  Romanesque  styles  ;  the  body  of  the 
structure  is  entirely  covered  with  statues  and  richly  wrought 
sculpture,  with  needle-like  spires  of  white  marble  rising  up  from 
every  corner.  But  of  the  exquisite,  airy  look  of  the  whole  mass, 
although  so  solid  and  vast,  it  is  impossible  to  convey  an  idea.  It 
appears  like  some  fabric  of  frost-work  which  winter  traces  on 
the  window-panes.  There  is  a  unity  of  beauty  about  the  whole, 
which  the  eye  takes  in  with  a  feeling  of  perfect  and  satisfied  de- 
light. 

Ascending  the  marble  steps  which  lead  to  the  front,  I  lifled  the 
folds  of  the  heavy  curtain  and  entered.     What  a  glorious  aisle ! 


THE  DUOMO   OF   MILAN.  243 


The  mighty  pillars  support  a  magnificent  arched  ceiling,  painted 
to  resemble  fretwork,  and  the  little  light  that  falls  through  the 
small  windows  above,  enters  tinged  with  a  dim  golden  hue.  A 
feeling  of  solemn  awe  comes  over  one  as  he  steps  with  a  hushed 
tread  along  the  colored  marble  floor,  and  measures  the  massivs 
columns  till  they  blend  with  the  gorgeous  arches  above.  There 
are  four  rows  of  these,  nearly  fifty  in  all,  and  when  I  state  thai 
they  are  eight  feet  in  diameter,  and  sixty  or  seventy  in  height, 
some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  grandeur  of  the  building.  Ima- 
gine the  Girard  College,  at  Philadelphia,  turned  into  one  great 
hall,  with  four  rows  of  pillars,  equal  in  size  to  those  around  it, 
reaching  to  its  roof,  and  you  will  have  a  rough  sketch  of  the  in- 
terior of  the  Duomo. 

In  the  centre  of  the  cross  is  a  light  and  beautiful  dome ;  he 
who  will  stand  under  this,  and  look  down  the  broad  middle  aisle 
to  the  entrance,  has  one  of  the  sublimest  vistas  to  be  found  in  the 
world.  The  choir  has  three  enormous  windows,  covered  with 
dazzling  paintings,  and  the  ceiling  is  of  marble  and  silver.  There 
are  gratings  under  the  high  altar,  by  looking  into  which,  I  could 
see  a  dark,  lonely  chamber  below,  where  one  or  two  feeble  lamps 
showed  a  circle  of  praying-places.  It  was  probably  a  funeral 
vault,  which  persons  visited  to  pray  for  the  reposeof  their  friends' 
souls.  The  Duomo  is  not  yet  entirely  finished,  the  workmen  be- 
ing still  employed  in  various  parts,  but  it  is  said,  that  when  com- 
pleted there  will  be  four  thousand  statues  on  the  different  parts 
of  it. 

The  design  of  the  Duomo  is  said  tu.  be  taken  from  Monte  Rosa, 
one  of  the  loftiest  peaks  of  the  Alps.  Its  hundreds  of  sculptured 
pinnacles,  rising  from  every  part  of  the  body  of  the  church,  cer- 
tainly bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  splintered  ice-crags  of 
Savoy.  Thus  we  see  how  Art,  mighty  and  endless  in  her  forms 
thoush  she  be,  is  in  everv  thinnj  but  the  child  of  Nature.  Her 
most  divine  conceptions  are  but  copies  of  objects  which  we  behold 
every  day.  The  faultless  beauty  of  the  Corinthian  capital — the 
springing  and  intermingling  arches  of  the  Gothic  aisle — the  pil- 
lared portico  or  the  massive  and  sky-piercing  pyramid — are  but 
attempts  at  reproducing,  by  the  studied  regularity  of  Art,  the 
ever-varied  and  ever-beautiful  forms  of  mountain,  rock  and  forest. 


244  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


But  there  is  oftentimes  a  more  thrilling  sensation  of  enjoyment 
produced  by  the  creations  of  man's  hand  and  intellect  than  the 
grander  effects  of  Nature,  existing  constantly  before  our  eyes. 
It  would  seem  as  if  man  marvelled  more  at  his  own  work  than  at 
the  work  of  the  Power  which  created  him. 

The  streets  ot  Milan  abound  with  priests  in  their  cocked  hats 
and  long  black  robes.  They  all  have  the  same  solemn  air,  and 
seem  to  go  about  like  beings  shut  out  from  all  communion  with 
pleasure.  No  sight  lately  has  saddened  me  so  much  as  to  see  a 
bright,  beautiful  boy^  of  twelve  or  thirteen  years,  in  those  gloomy 
garments.  Poor  child  !  he  little  knows  now  what  he  may  have 
to  endure.  A  lonely,  cheerless  life,  where  every  affection  must 
be  crushed  as  unholy,  and  every  pleasure  denied  as  a  crime ! 
And  I  knew  by  his  fair  brow  and  tender  lip,  that  he  had  a  warm 
and  loving  heart.  I  could  not  help  regarding  this  class  as  victims 
to  a  mistaken  idea  of  religious  duty,  and  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  I 
read  on  more  than  one  countenance  the  traces  of  passions  that 
burned  within.  It  is  mournful  to  see  a  people  oppressed  in  the 
name  of  religion.  The  holiest  aspirations  of  man's  nature,  in- 
stead of  lifting  him  up  to  a  nearer  view  of  Christian  perfection, 
are  changed  into  clouds  and  shut  out  the  lio;ht  of  heaven.  Im- 
mense  treasures,  wrung  drop  by  drop  from  the  credulity  of  the 
poor  and  ignorant,  are  made  use  of  to  pamper  the  luxury  of  those 
who  profess  to  be  mediators  between  man  and  the  Deity.  The 
poor  wretch  may  perish  of  starvation  on  a  floor  of  precious  mosaic, 
which  perhaps  his  own  pittance  has  helped  to  form,  while  ceilings 
and  shrines  of  inlaid  gold  mock  his  dying  eye  with  their  useless 
splendor.  Such  a  system  of  oppression,  disguised  under  the  ho- 
liest name,  can  only  be  sustained  by  the  continuance  of  ignorance 
and  blind  superstition.  Knowledge — Truth — Reason — these  are 
the  ramparts  which  Liberty  throws  up  to  guard  her  dominions  from 
the  usurpations  of  oppression  and  wrong. 

We  were  last  night  in  La  Scala.  Rossini's  opera  of  William 
Tell  was  advertised,  and  as  we  had  visited  so  lately  the  scene 
where  that  glorious  historical  drama  was  enacted,  we  went  to  see 
it  represented  in  sound.  It  is  a  grand  subject,  which  in  the  hands  of 
a  powerful  composer,  might  be  made  very  effective,  but  I  must 
confess  I  was  disappointed  in  the  present  case.     The  overture  is, 


MUSIC   IN   MILAN.  245 


however,  very  beautiful.  It  begins  low  and  mournful,  like  the 
lament 'of  the  Swiss  over  their  fallen  liberties.  Occasionally  a 
low  drum  is  heard,  as  if  to  rouse  them  to  action,  and  meanwhile 
the  lament  swells  to  a  cry  of  despair.  The  drums  now  wake  the 
land  ;  the  horn  of  Uri  is  heard  pealing  forth  its  summoning  strain, 
and  the  echoes  seem  to  come  back  from  the  distant  Alps.  The 
sound  then  changes  for  the  roar  of  battle — the  clang  of  trumpets, 
drums  and  cymbals.  The  whole  orchestra  did  their  best  to  repre- 
sent this  combat  in  music,  which  after  lasting  a  short  time,  changed 
into  the  loud,  victorious  march  of  the  conquerors.  But  the  body 
of  the  opera,  although  it  had  several  tine  passages,  was  to  me  de- 
void of  interest ;   in  fact,  unworthy  the  reputation  of  Rossini. 

The  theatre  is  perhaps  the  largest  in  the  world.  The  singers 
are  all  good ;  in  Italy  it  could  not  be  otherwise,  where  everybody 
siniTs.  As  I  write,  a  party  of  Italians  in  the  house  opposite  }  ave 
been  amusing  themselves  with  going  through  the  whole  opera  of 
"  Lafille  du  Regiment,^'  with  the  accompaniment  of  the  piano, 
and  they  show  the  greatest  readiness  and  correctness  in  their  per- 
formance. They  have  now  become  somewhat  boisterous,  and  ap- 
pear to  be  improvising.  One  young  gentleman  executes  trills  with 
amazing  skill,  and  another  appears  to  have  taken  the  part  of  a 
despairing  lover,  but  the  lady  has  a  very  pretty  voice,  and  war- 
bles on  and  on,  like  a  nightingale.  Occasionally  a  group  of  lis- 
teners in  the  street  below  clap  them  applause,  for  as  the  windows 
are  always  open,  the  whole  neighborhood  can  enjoy  the  per- 
formance. 

This  forenoon  I  was  in  the  Picture  Gallery.  It  occupies  a  part 
of  the  Library  Building,  in  the  Palazzo  Cabrera.  It  is  not  large, 
and  many  of  the  pictures  areof  no  value  to  anybody  but  antiqua- 
rians ;  still  there  are  some  excellent  paintings,  which  render  it 
well  worthy  a  visit.  Among  these,  a  marriage,  by  Raphael,  is 
still  in  a  very  good  state  of  preservation,  and  there  are  some  fine 
pictures  by  Paul  Veronese  and  the  Caracci.  The  most  admired 
pairing,  is  "  Abraham  sending  away  Hagar,"  by  Guercino.  I 
never  saw  a  more  touching  expression  of  grief  than  in  the  face 
of  Hagar.  Her  eyes  are  red  with  weeping,  and  as  she  listens  in 
an  agony  of  tears  to  the  patriarch's  command,  she  still  seems 
doubting  the  reality  of  her  doom.     The  countenance  of  Abra 


246  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


ham  is  venerable  and  calm,  and  expresses  little  emotion  ;  but  one 
can  read  in  that  of  Sarah,  as  she  turns  away,  a  feeling  of  pity 
for  her  unfortunate  rival. 

Next  to  the  Duomo,  tbe  most  beautiful  specimen  of  architecture 
in  Milan  is  the  Arch  of  Peace,  on  the  north  side  of  the  city,  at 
the  commencement  of  the  Simplon  Road.  It  was  the  intention 
of  Napoleon  to  carry  the  road  under  this  arch,  across  the  Piazza 
d'  Armi,  and  to  cut  a  way  for  it  directly  into  the  heart  of  the  city, 
but  the  fall  of  his  dynasty  prevented  the  execution  of  this  mag- 
nificent design,  as  well  as  the  completion  of  the  arch  itself.  This 
has  been  done  by  the  Austrian  government,  according  to  the 
original  plan  ;  they  have  inscribed  upon  it  the  name  of  Francis 
1.,  and  changed  the  bas-reliefs  of  Lodi  and  Marengo  into  those  of 
a  few  fields  where  their  forces  had  gained  the  victory.  It  is  even 
said  that  in  many  parts  which  were  already  fiinished,  they  altered 
the  splendid  Roman  profile  of  Napoleon  into  the  haggard  and  re- 
pulsive features  of  Francis  of  Austria. 

The  bronze  statues  on  the  top  w^ere  made  by  an  artist  of  Bo- 
logna, by  Napoleon's  order,  and  are  said  to  be  the  finest  works  of 
modern  times.  In  the  centre  is  the  goddess  of  Peace,  in  a  tri- 
umphal car,  drawn  by  six  horses,  while  on  the  corners  four  angels, 
mounted,  are  starting  off  to  convey  the  tidings  to  the  four  quar- 
ters of  the  globe.  The  artist  has  caught  the  spirit  of  motion  and 
chained  it  in  these  moveless  figures.  One  would  hardlv  feel  sur- 
prised  if  the  goddess,  chariot,  horses  and  all,  were  to  start  offand 
roll  away  through  the  air. 

With  the  rapidity  usual  to  Americans  we  have  already  finished 
seeing  Milan,  and  shall  start  to-morrow  morning  on  a  walk  to 
Genoa. 


WALKING   IN   LOMBARDY.  247 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


WALK    FROM.    MILAN    TO    GENOA. 


It  was  finally  decided  we  should  leave  Milan,  so  the  next 
morning  we  arose  at  five  o'clock  for  the  first  time  since  leaving 
Frankfort.  The  Italians  had  commenced  operations  at  this  early 
hour,  bat  we  made  our  way  through  the  streets  without  attract- 
ing quite  so  much  attention  as  on  our  arrival.  Near  the  gate  on 
the  road  to  Pavia,  we  passed  a  long  colonnade  which  was  cer- 
tainly as  old  as  the  times  of  the  Romans.  The  pillars  of  marble 
were  quite  brown  with  age,  and  bound  together  with  iron  to  keep 
them  from  falling  to  pieces.  It  was  a  striking  contrast  to  see 
this  relic  of  the  past  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  crowded  thorough- 
fare and  surrounded  by  ail  the  brilliance  and  display  of  modern 
trade. 

Once  fairly  out  of  the  city  we  took  the  road  to  Pavia,  along 
tlie  banks  of  the  canal,  just  as  the  rising  sun  gilded  the  marble 
spire  of  the  Duomo.  The  country  was  a  perfect  level,  and  the 
canal,  which  was  in  many  places  higher  than  the  land  through 
which  it  passed,  served  also  as  a  means  of  irrigation  for  the  many 
rice-fields.  The  sky  grew  cloudy  and  dark,  and  before  we 
reached  Pavia  gathered  to  a  heavy  storm.  Torrents  of  rain 
poured  down,  accompanied  with  heavy  thunder;  we  crept  under 
an  old  gateway  for  shelter,  as  no  house  was  near.  Finally,  as  it 
cleared  away,  the  square  brown  towers  of  the  old  city  rose  above 
the  trees,  and  we  entered  the  gate  through  a  fine  shaded  avenue. 
Our  passports  were  of  course  demanded,  but  we  were  only  de- 
tained a  minute  or  two.  The  only  thing  of  interest  is  the  Uni- 
versity, formerly  so  celebrated  ;  it  -has  at  present  about  eight 
hundred  students. 

We  have  reason  to  remember  the  city  from  another  circum- 
stance— the  singular  aitention  we  excited.     I  doubt  if  Columbus 


248  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


was  an  object  of  greater  curiosity  to  the  simple  natives  of  the 
new  world,  than  we. three  Americans  were  to  the  good  people  of 
Pavia.  I  know  not  what  part  of  our  dress  or  appearance  could 
have  caused  it,  but  we  were  watched  like  wild  animals.  If  we 
happened  to  pause  and  look  at  anything  in  the  street,  there  was 
soon  a  crowd  of  attentive  observers,  and  as  we  passed  on,  every 
door  and  window  was  full  of  heads.  We  stopped  in  the  market- 
place to  purchase  some  bread  and  fruit  for  dinner,  which  in- 
creased, if  possible,  the  sensation.  We  saw  eyes  staring  and 
fingers  pointing  at  us  from  every  door  and  alley.  I  am  generally 
willing  to  contribute  as  much  as  possible  to  the  amusement  or  en- 
tertainment of  others,  but  such  attention  was  absolutely  embar- 
rassing. There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  appear  unconscious  of 
it,  and  we  went  along  with  as  much  nonchalance  as  if  the  whole 
town  belonged  to  us. 

We  crossed  the  Ticino,  on  whose  banks  near  Pavia,  was  fought 
the  first  great  battle  between  Hannibal  and  the  Romans.  On  the 
other  side  our  passports  were  demanded  at  the  Sardinian  frontier 
and  our  knapsacks  searched,  which  having  proved  satisfactory, 
we  were  allowed  to  enter  the  kingdom.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
we  reached  the  Po,  which  in  winter  must  be  quarter  of  a  mile 
wide,  but  the  summer  heats  had  dried  it  up  to  a  small  stream,  so 
that  the  bridge  of  boats  rested  nearly  its  whole  length  in  sand. 
We  sat  on  the  bank  in  the  shade,  and  looked  at  the  chain  of 
hills  which  rose  in  the  south,  following  the  course  of  the  Po, 
crowned  with  castles  and  villages  and  shining  towers.  It  was 
here  that  I  first  began  to  realize  Italian  scenery.  Although  the 
hills  were  bare,  they  lay  so  warm  and  glowing  in  the  sunshine, 
and  the  deep  blue  sky  spread  so  calmly  above,  that  it  recalled  all 
my  dreams  of  the  fair  clime  we  had  entered. 

We  stopped  for  the  night  at  the  little  village  of  Casteggio, 
which  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  and  next  morning  resumed  ouv 
pilgrimage.  Here  a  new  delight  awaited  us.  The  sky  was  of 
a  heavenly  blue,  without  even  the  shadow  of  a  cloud,  and  full 
and  fair  in  the  morning  sunshine  we  could  see  the  whole  range 
of  the  Alps,  from  the  blue  hills  of  Friuli,  which  sweep  down  to 
Venice  and  the  Adriatic,  to  the  lofty  peaks  which  stretch  away 
to  Nice  and  Marseilles !     Like  a  summer  cloud,  except  that  they 


THE  PLAINS   OF   PIEDMONT.  249 

were  far  more  dazzling  and  glorious,  lay  to  the  north  of  us  the 
glaciers  and  untrodden  snow-fields  of  the  Bernese  Oberland  ;  a 
little  to  the  right  we  saw  the  double  peak  of  St.  Gothard,  where 
six  days  before  we  shivered  in  the  region  of  eternal  winter,  while 
far  to  the  north-west  rose  the  giant  dome  of  Mount  Blanc.  Monte 
Rosa  stood  near  him,  not  far  from  the  Great  St.  Bernard,  and 
further  to  the  south  Mont  Cenis  guarded  the  entrance  from  Pied- 
mont into  France.  I  leave  you  to  conceive  the  majesty  of  such 
a  scene,  and  you  may  perhaps  imagine,  for  I  cannot  describe  the 
feelings  with  which  I  gazed  upon  it. 

At  Tortona,  the  next  post,  a  great  market  was  being  held  ;  the 
town  was  filled  with  country  people  selling  their  produce,  and 
with  venders  of  wares  of  all  kinds.  Fruit  was  very  abundant — 
grapes,  ripe  figs,  peaches  and  melons  were  abundant,  and  for  a 
trifle  one  could  purchase  a  sumptuous  banquet.  On  inquiring 
the  road  to  Novi,  the  people  made  us  understand,  after  much  dif- 
ficulty, that  there  was  a  nearer  way  across  the  country,  which 
came  into  the  post-road  again,  and  we  concluded  to  take  it.  Af- 
ter two  or  three  hours'  walking  in  a  burning  sun,  where  our  only 
relief  was  the  sight  of  the  Alps  and  a  view  of  the  battle-field  of 
Marengo,  which  lay  just  on  our  right,  we  came  to  a  stand — the 
road  terminated  at  a  large  stream,  where  workmen  were  busily 
engaged  in  making  a  bridge  across.  We  pulled  off  our  boots  and 
waded  through,  took  a  refreshing  bath  in  the  clear  waters,  and 
walked  on  through  by-lanes.  The  sides  were  lined  with  luxu- 
riant vines,  bending  under  the  ripening  vintage,  and  we  often 
cooled  our  thirst  with  some  of  the  rich  bunches. 

The  large  branch  of  the  Po  we  crossed,  came  down  from  the 
mountains,  which  we  were  approaching.  As  we  reached  the 
post-road  again,  they  were  glowing  in  the  last  rays  of  the  sun, 
and  the  evening  vapors  that  settled  over  the  plain  concealed  the 
distant  Alps,  although  the  snowy  top  of  the  Jungfrau  and  her 
companions  the  Wetterhorn  and  Schreckhorn,  rose  above  it  like 
the  hills  of  another  world.  A  castle  or  church  of  brilliant  white 
marble  glittered  on  the  summit  of  one  of  the  mountains  near  us, 
and  as  the  sun  went  down  without  a  cloud,  the  distant  summits 
changed  in  hue  to  a  glowing  purple,  amounting  almost  to  crim- 
son, which  afterwards  darkened  into  a  deep  violet.     The  western 

12* 


^50  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


half  of  the  sky  was  of  a  pale  orange,  and  the  eastern  a  dark  red, 
which  blended  together  in  the  blue  of  the  zenith,  that  deepened  as 
twilight  came  on.  I  know  not  if  it  was  a  fiair  specimen  of  an 
Italian  sunset,  but  I  must  say,  ^^ithout  wishing  to  be  partial,  that 
thouo-h  certainly  very  soft  and  beautiful,  there  is  no  comparison 
with  the  splendor  of  such  a  scene  in  America.  The  day-sky  of 
Italy  better  deserves  its  reputation.  Although  no  clearer  than 
our  own,  it  is  of  a  far  brighter  blue,  arching  above  us  like  a  dome 
of  sapphire  and  seeming  to  sparkle  all  over  with  a  kind  of  crystal 
transparency. 

We  stopped  the  second  night  at  Arquato,  a  little  village  among 
the  mountains,  and  after  having  bargained  with  the  merry  land- 
lord for  our  lodgings,  in  broken  Italian,  took  a  last  look  at  the 
plains  of  Piedmont  and  the  Swiss  Alps,  in  the  growing  twilight. 
We  gazed  out  on  the  darkening  scene  till  the  sky  was  studded 
with  stars,  and  went  to  rest  with  the  exciting  thought  of  seeing 
Genoa  and  the  Mediterranean  on  the  morrow.  Next  mornmg 
we  started  early,  and  after  walking  some  distance  made  our 
breakfast  in  a  grove  of  chesnuts,  on  the  cool  mountain  side,  be- 
side a  fresh  stream  of  water.  The  sky  shone  like  a  polished  gem, 
and  the  glossy  leaves  of  the  chesnuts  gleamed  in  the  morning  sun. 
Here  and  there,  on  a  rocky  height,  stood  the  remains  of  some 
knightly  castle,  telling  of  the  Goths  and  Normans  who  descended 
through  these  mountain  passes  to  plunder  Rome. 

As  the  sun  grew  high,  the  heat  and  dust  became  intolerable, 
and  this,  in  connection  with  the  attention  we  raised  everywhere, 
made  us  somewhat  tired  of  foot-traveling  in  Italy.  I  verily  be- 
lieve the  people  took  us  for  pilgrims  on  account  of  our  long  white 
blouses,  and  had  1  a  scallop  shell  I  would  certainly  have  stuck  it 
into  my  hat  to  complete  the  appearance.  We  stopped  once  to  ask 
a  priest  the  road  ;  when  he  had  told  us,  he  shook  iiands  with  us 
and  gave  us  a  parting  benediction.  At  the  common  inns,  where 
we  stopped,  we  always  met  with  civil  treatment,  though,  indeed, 
as  we  only  slept  in  them,  there  was  little  chance  of  practising  im- 
position. We  bought  our  simple  meals  at  the  baker's  and  gro- 
cer's, and  ate  them  in  the  shade  of  the  grape-bowers,  whose  rich 
clusters  added  to  the  repast.  In  this  manner,  we  enjoyed  Italy 
at  the  expense  of  a   franc,  daily.     About   noon,   after   winding 


[FIRST  SIGHT   OF   THE   MEDITERRANEAN.  251 

about  through  the  narrow  defiles,  the  road  began  ascending.  The 
reflected  heat  from  the  hills  on  each  side  made  it  like  an  oven ; 
there  was  not  a  breath  of  air  stirrinir  •  but  we  all  felt,  althoush 
no  one  said  it,  that  from  the  summit  we  could  see  the  Mediterra- 
nean, and  we  pushed  on  as  if  life  or  death  depended  on  it.  Finally, 
the  highest  point  came  in  sight — we  redoubled  our  exertions,  and 
a  k\v  minutes  more  brought  us  to  the  top,  breathless  with  fatigue 
and  expectation.  I  glanced  down  the  other  side — there  lay  a  real 
sea  of  mountains,  all  around  ;  the  farthest  peaks  rose  up  afar  and 
dim,  crowned  with  white  towers,  and  between  two  of  them  which 
stood  apart  like  the  pillars  of  a  gateway,  we  saw  the  broad  ex- 
panse of  water  stretching  away  to  the  horizon — 

"  To  where  the  blue  of  heaven  on  bluer  waves  shut  down !" 

It  would  have  been  a  thrilling  sight  to  see  any  ocean,  when  one 
has  rambled  thousands  of  miles  among  the  mountains  and  vales 
of  the  inland,  but  to  behold  this  sea,  of  all  others,  was  glorious 
indeed  !  This  sea,  whose  waves  wash  the  feet  of  Naples,  Con- 
stantinople and  Alexandria,  and  break  on  the  hoary  shores  where 
Troy  and  Tyre  and  Carthage  have  mouldered  away  ! — whose 
breast  has  been  furrowed  by  the  keels  of  a  hundred  nations 
through  more  than  fortv  centuries — from  the  first  rude  voyage  of 
Jason  and  his  Argonauts,  to  the  thunders  of  Navarino  that  her- 
alded the  second  birth  of  Greece  !  You  cannot  wonder  we  grew 
romantic ;  but  short  space  was  left  for  sentiment  in  the  burning 
sun,  with  Genoa  to  be  reached  before  night.  The  mountain  we 
crossed  is  called  the  Bochetta,  one  of  the  loftiest  of  the  sea- Alps 
(or  Apennines)— the  road  winds  steeply  down  towards  the  sea, 
following  a  broad  mountain  rivulet,  now  perfectly  dried  up,  as 
nearly  every  stream  among  the  mountains  is.  It  was  a  long  way 
to  us;  the  mountains  seemed  as  if  they  would  never  unfold  and 
let  us  out  on  the  shore,  and  our  weary  limbs  did  penance  enough 
for  a  multitude  of  sins.  The  dusk  was  beginning  to  deepen  over 
the  bay  and  the  purple  hues  of  sunset  were  dying  away  from  its 
amphitheatre  of  hills,  as  we  came  in  sight  of  the  gorgeous  city. 
Half  the  population  were  out  to  celebrate  a  festival,  and  we  made 
our  entry  in  the  triumphal  procession  of  some  paint. 


262  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

SCENES    IN    GENOA,    LEGHORN    AND    PISA. 

Have  you  ever  seen  some  grand  painting  of  a  city,  rising  with 
its  domes  and  towers  and  palaces  from  the  edge  of  a  glorious  bay, 
shut  in  by  mountains — ^the  whole  scene  clad   in  those  deep,  deli- 
cious, sunny  hues   whicli  you   admire  so   much  in   the   picture, 
although   they   appear   unrealized   in   Nature  ?     If  so,   you  can 
figure  to  yourself  Genoa,  as  she  looked  to  us  at  sunset,  from  the 
battlements  west  of  the  city.     When  we  had  passed  through  the 
gloomy  gate  of  the  fortress  that  guards  the  western  promontory, 
the  whole  scene  opened  at  once  on  us  in  all  its  majesty.     It  looked 
to  me  less  like  a  real  landscape  than  a  mighty  panoramic  paint- 
mg.     The   battlements   where   we  were  standing,  and  the  blue 
mirror  of  the  Mediterranean  just  below,  with  a  few  vessels  moor- 
ed near  the  shore,  made  up  the  foreground  ;  just  in  front  lay  the 
queenly  city,  stretching  out  to  the  eastern  point  of  the  bay,  like  a 
great  meteor — this  point,  crowned  with  the  towers  and  dome  of  a 
cathedral    representing  the    nucleus,    while   the    tail    gradually 
widened  out  and  was  lost  among  the  numberless  villas  that  reach- 
ed to  the  top  of  the  mountains  behind.     A  mole  runs  nearly  across 
the  mouth  of  the  harbor,  with  a  tall  light-house  at  its  extremity, 
leaving  only  a  narrow  passage  for  vessels.    As  we  gazed,  a  pur- 
ple glow  lay  on  the  bosom  of  the  sea,  while  far  beyond  the  city, 
th(;  eastern  half  of  the  mountain    crescent  around   the  gulf  was 
tinted  with  the  loveliest  hue  of  orange.     The  impressions  which 
one  derives  from   looking  on    remarkable  scenery,  depend,   for 
much  of  their  effect,  on  the  time  and  weather.     I  have  been  very 
fortunate  in  this   respect  in  two  instances,  and  shall   carry  with 
me  through  life,  two  glorious  pictures  of  a  very  different  charac- 
ter— the  wild  sublimity  of  the  Brocken  in  cloud  and  storm,  and 
the  splendor  of  Genoa  in  an  Italian  sunset. 


A  SAINT'S   FESTIVAL.  253 

Genoa  has  been  called  the  "  city  of  palaces."  and  it  well  de- 
serves the  appellation.  Row  above  row  of  magnificent  struc- 
tures rise  amid  gardens  along  the  side  of  the  hills,  and  many  of 
the  streets,  though  narrow  and  crooked,  are  lined  entirely  with 
the  splendid  dwellings  of  the  Genoese  nobles.  All  these  speak 
of  the  republic  in  its  days  of  wealth  and  power,  when  it  could 
cope  successfully  with  Venice,  and  Doria  could  threaten  to  bridle 
the  horses  of  St.  Mark.  At  present  its  condition  is  far  different; 
although  not  so  fallen  as  Its  rival,  it  is  but  a  shadow  of  its  former 
self — the  life  and  energy  it  possessed  as  a  republic,  has  withered 
away  under  the  grasp  of  tyranny. 

We  entered  Genoa,  as  I  have  already  said,  in  a  religious  pro- 
cession. On  passing  the  gate  we  saw  from  the  concourse  of  peo- 
ple and  the  manv  banners  hanmriCT  from  the  windows  or  floatinf^ 
across  the  streets,  that  it  was  the  day  of  a  festa.  Before  enter- 
ing the  city  we  reached  the  procession  itself,  which  was  one  of 
unusual  solemnity.  As  it  was  impossible  in  the  dense  crowd,  to 
pass  it,  we  struggled  through  till  we  reached  a  good  point  for  see- 
ing the  whole,  and  slowly  moved  on  with  it  through  the  city. 
First  went  a  company  of  boys  in  white  robes  ;  then  followed  a 
body  of  friars,  dressed  in  long  black  cassocks,  and  with  shaven 
crow^ns  ;  then  a  company  of  soldiers  with  a  band  of  music  ;  then 
a  body  of  nuns,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  blue  robes,  leaving 
only  a  small  place  to  sec  out  of — in  the  dusk  they  looked  very 
solemn  and  ghost-like,  and  their  low  chant  had  to  me  something 
awful  and  sepulchral  in  it ;  then  followed  another  company  of 
friars,  and  after  that  a  great  number  of  priests  in  white  and  black 
robes,  bearing  the  statue  of  the  saint,  with  a  pyramid  of  flowers, 
crosses  and  blazing  wax  tapers,  while  companies  of  soldiery, 
monks  and  music  brought  up  the  rear.  Armed  guards  walked 
at  intervals  on  each  side  of  the  procession,  to  keep  the  way  clear 
and  prevent  disturbance  ;  two  or  three  bands  played  solemn  airs, 
alternating  with  the  deep  monotonous  chanting  of  the  friars.  The 
whole  scene,  dimly  lighted  by  the  wax  tapers,  produced  in  me  a 
feeling  nearly  akin  to  fear,  as  if  I  were-  witnessing  some  ghostly, 
unearthly  spectacle.  To  rites  like  these,  however,  which  occur 
every  few  weeks,  the  people  must  be  well  accustomed. 

Among  the   most  interesting  objects  in  Genoa,   is   the  Doria 


5.t)4  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


palace,  fit  in  its  splendor  for  a  monarch's  residence.  It  stands 
in  the  Strada  Nova,  one  of  the  three  principal  streets,  and  I  be- 
lieve is  still  in  the  possession  of  the  famil}'-.  There  are  many 
others  through  the  city,  scarcely  less  magnificent,  among  which 
that  of  the  Durazzo  family  may  be  pointed  out.  The  American 
consulate  is  in  one  of  these  old  edifices,  with  a  fine  court-yard 
and  ceilings  co veered  with  frescoes.  Mr.  More,  the  Vice  Consul, 
did  us  a  great  kindness,  which  I  feel  bound  to  acknowledge^ 
although  it  will  require  the  disclosure  of  some  private,  and  per- 
haps uninteresting  circumstances.  On  leaving  Frankfort,  we 
converted — for  the  sake  of  convenience — the  greater  part  of  our 
funds  into  a  draft  on  a  Saxon  merchant  in  Leghorn,  reserving 
just  enough,  as  we  supposed,  to  take  us  thither.  As  in  our  for- 
mer case,  in  Germany,  the  sum  was  too  small,  which  we  found 
to  our  dismay  on  reaching  Milan.  Notwithstanding  we  had 
traveled  the  whole  ninety  miles  from  that  city  to  Genoa  for  three 
francs  each,  in  the  hope  of  having  enough  left  to  enable  one  at 
least  to  visit  Leghorn,  the  expenses  for  a  passport  in  Genoa  (more 
than  twenty  francs)  prevented  this  plan.  I  went  therefore  to  the 
Vice  Consul  to  ascertain  whether  the  merchant  on  whom  the  draft 
was  drawn,  had  any  correspondents  there,  who  might  advance  a 
portion  of  it.  His  secretary  made  many  inquiries,  but  without 
effect  ;  Mr.  Moro  then  generously  offered  to  furnish  me  with 
means  to  reach  Leghorn,  whence  I  could  easily  remit  a  sufficient 
sum  to  my  two  comrades.  This  put  an  end  to  our  anxiety,  (for  I 
must  confess  we  could  not  help  feeling  some),  and  I  therefore  pre- 
pared to  leave  that  evening  in  the  "  Virgilio." 

The  feelings  with  which  I  look  on  this  lovely  land,  are  fast 
changing.  What  with  the  dust  and  heat,  and  cheating  landlords, 
and  .the  dull  plains  of  Lombardy,  my  first  experience  was  not 
very  prepossessing.  But  the  joyous  and  romantic  anticipation 
with  which  I  looked  forward  to  realizing  the  dream  of  my  earliest 
boyhood,  is  now  beginning  to  be  surpassed  by  the  exciting  reality. 
Every  breath  I  drew  in  the  city  of  Columbus  and  Doria,  was 
deeply  tinctured  with  the  magic  of  history  and  romance.  It  was 
like  entering  on  a  new  existence,  to  look  on  scenes  so  lovely  by 
nature  and  so  filled  with  the  inspiring  memories  of  old. 


A  NIGHT   ON  THE   MEDITERRANEAN.  Sf.S 

"  Italia  toOj  Italia  !  looking  on  thee. 
Full  flashes  on  the  soul  the  light  of  ages. 
Since  the  tierce  Carthagcnian  almost  won  thee, 
To  the  last  halo  of  the  chiefs  and  sages 
Who  glorify  thy  consecrated  pages ! 
Thou  wert  the  throne  and  grave  of  empires." 

The  VirgiUo  was  advertised  to  leave  at  six  o'clock,  and  I  ac- 
cordingly went  out  to  her  in  a  little  boat  half  an  hour  beforehand  ; 
but  we  were  delayed  much  longer,  and  1  saw  sunset  again  fade 
over  the  glorious  amphitheatre  of  palaces  and  mountains,  with 
the  same  orange  glow — the  same  purple  and  crimson  flush,  deep- 
enino^  into  twilight — as  before.  An  old  blind  man  in  a  skiff, 
floated  around  under  the  bows  of  the  boat  on  the  glassy  water, 
singing  to  the  violin  a  plaintive  air  that  appeared  to  be  an  even- 
ing hymn  to  the  virgin.  There  was  something  very  touching  in 
his  venerable  countenance,  with  the  sightless  eyes  turned  upward 
to  the  sunset  heaven  whose  glory  he  could  never  more  behold. 

The  lamps  were  lit  on  the  tower  at  the  end  of  the  mole  as  we 
glided  out  on  the  open  sea  ;  I  stood  on  deck  and  watched  the  re- 
ceding lights  of  the  city,  till  they  and  the  mountains  above  them 
were  blended  with  the  darkened  sky.  The  sea-breeze  was  fresh 
and  cool,  and  the  stars  glittered  with  a  frosty  clearness,  which 
would  have  made  the  night  delicious  had  not  a  slight  rolling  of 
the  waves  obliged  me  to  go  below.  Here,  besides  being  half  sea- 
sick, I  was  placed  at  the  mercy  of  many  voracious  fleas,  who  ob- 
stinately stayed,  persisting  in  keeping  me  company.  This  was 
the  first  time  I  had  suffered  from  these  canni'jals,  and  such  were 
my  torments,  I  almost  wished  some  blood-thirsty  Italian  would 
come  and  put  an  end  to  them  with  his  stiletto. 

The  first  ray  of  dawn  that  stole  into  the  cabin  sent  me  on  deck. 
The  hills  of  Tuscany  lay  in  front,  sharply  outlined  on  the  red- 
dening sky  ;  near  us  vi'as  the  steep  and  rocky  isle  of  Gorgona  ; 
and  far  to  the  south-west,  like  a  low  mist  along  the  water,  ran 
the  shores  of  Corsica — the  birth  place  of  Columbus  and  Napo- 
leon!* As  the  dawn  brightened  we  saw  on  the  southern  horizon 
a  cloud-like  island,  also  imperishably  connected  with  the  name 

*  By  recent  registers  found  in  Corsica,  it  has  been  determined  that  this 
island  also  gave  birth  to  the  discoverer  of  the  new  world. 


256  VIEWS    A-FOOT. 


of  the  latter — the  prison-kingdom  of  Elba  !  North  of  us  extended 
the  rugged  mountains  of  Carrarra — that  renowned  range  whence 
has  sprung  many  a  form  of  almost  breathing  beauty,  and  where 
yet  slumber,  perhaps,  in  the  unhewn  marble,  the  god-like  shapes 
of  an  age  of  art,  more  glorious  than  any  the  world  has  ever  yet 
beheld  ! 

The  sun  rose  from  behind  the  Appenines  and  masts  and  towei's 
became  visible  through  the  golden  haze,  as  we  approached  the 
shore.  On  a  flat  space  between  tiie  sea  and  the  hills,  not  far 
from  the  foot  of  Montenero,  stands  Leghorn.  The  harbor  is  pro- 
tected by  a  mole,  leaving  a  narrow  passage,  through  which  we 
entered,  and  after  waiting  two  hours  for  the  visit  of  the  health 
and  police  officers,  we  were  permitted  to  go  on  shore.  The  first 
thing  that  struck  me,  was  the  fine  broad  streets ;  the  second,  the 
motley  character  of  the  population.  People  were  hurrying  about 
noisy  and  bustling — Greeks  in  their  red  caps  and  capotes ;  grave 
turbaned  and  bearded  Turks;  dark  Moors;  the  Corsair-looking 
natives  of  Tripoli  and  Tunis,  and  seamen  of  nearly  every  nation. 
At  the  hotel  where  I  stayed,  we  had  a  singular  mixture  of 
nations  at  dinner : — two  French,  two  Swiss,  one  Genoese,  one 
Roman,  one  American  and  one  Turk — and  we  were  waited  on 
by  a  Tuscan  and  an  Arab !  We  conversed  together  in  four  Ian 
guages,  all  at  once. 

To  the  merchant,  Leghorn  is  of  more  importance  than  to  the 
traveler.  Its  extensive  trade,  not  only  in  the  manufactures  of 
Tuscany,  but  also  in  the  productions  of  the  Levant,  makes  it  im- 
portant to  the  former,  while  the  latter  seeks  in  vain  for  fine  build- 
ings, galleries  of  art,  or  interesting  historical  reminiscences. 
Through  the  kind  attention  of  the  Saxon  Consul,  to  whom  I  had 
letters,  two  or  three  days  went  by  delightfully. 

The  only  place  of  amusement  here  in  summer  is  a  drive  along 
the  sea  shore,  called  the  Ardenza,  which  is  frequented  every  even- 
ing by  all  who  can  raise  a  vehicle.  I  visited  it  twice  with  a  Ger- 
man friend.  We  met  one  evening  the  Princess  Corsini,  wife  of 
the  Governor  of  Leghorn,  on  horseback — a  young,  but  not  pretty 
woman.  The  road  leads  out  along  the  Mediterranean,  past  an  old 
fortress,  to  a  large  establishment  for  the  sea  bathers,  where  it 
ends  in  a  large  ring,  around  which  the  carriages  pass  and  re-pass^ 


SCENES   IN   LEGHORN.  257 

until  sunset  has  gone  out  over  the  sea,  when  they  return  to  the 
city  in  a  mad  gallop,  or  as  fast  as  the  lean  horses  can  draw  them. 

In  driving  around,  we  met  two  or  three  carriages  of  Turks,  in 
one  of  which  I  saw  a  woman  of  Tunis,  with  a  curious  gilded 
head-dress,  eighteen  inches  in  height. 

I  saw  one  night  a  Turkish  funeral.  It  passed  me  in  one  of  the 
outer  streets,  on  its  way  to  the  Turkish  burying  ground.  Those 
following  the  coffin,  which  was  covered  with  a  heavy  black  pall, 
wore  white  turbans  and  long  white  robes — the  mourning  color  of 
the  Turks.  Torches  we^'e  borne  by  attendants,  and  the  whole 
company  passed  on  at  a  quick  pace.  Seen  thus  by  night,  it  had 
a  strange  and  spectral  appearance. 

There  is  another  spectacle  here  which  was  exceedingly  revolt- 
ing to  me.  The  condemned  criminals,  chained  two  and  two,  are 
kept  at  work  through  the  city,  cleaning  the  streets.  They  are 
dressed  in  coarse  garments  of  a  dirty  red  color,  with  the  name  of 
the  crime  for  which  they  were  convicted,  painted  on  the  back.  I 
shuddered  to  see  so  many  marked  with  the  words — "  omicidio 
premeditatoJ^  All  day  they  are  thus  engaged,  exposed  to  the 
scorn  and  contumely  of  the  crowd,  and  at  night  dragged  away  to 
be  incarcerated  in  damp,  unwholesome  dungeons,  excavated  un- 
der the  public  thoroughfares. 

The  employment  of  criminals  in  this  way  is  common  in  Italy. 
Two  days  after  crossing  St.  Gothard,  we  saw  a  company  of  ab- 
ject-looking creatures,  eating  their  dinner  by  the  road-side,  near 
Bellinzona.  One  of  them  had  a  small  basket  of  articles  of  cot- 
ton and  linen,  and  as  he  rose  up  to  offer  them  to  us,  I  was  startled 
by  the  clank  of  fetters.  They  were  all  employed  to  labor  on  the 
road. 

On  going  down  to  the  wharf  in  Leghorn,  in  the   morning,  two 

or  three  days  ago,   I   found  F and  B just   stepping  on 

shore  from  the  steamboat,  tired  enough  of  the  discomforts  of 
the  voyage,  yet  anxious  to  set  out  for  Florence  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble. After  we  had  shaken  off  the  crowd  of  porters,  pedlars  and 
vetturini,  and  taken  a  ha^ty  breakfast  at  the  Cafe  Americano,  we 
went  to  the  Police  Office  to  get  our  passports,  and  had  the  satis- 
faction of  paying  two  francs  for  permission  to  proceed  to  Florence. 
The   weather   had   changed   since   the    preceding  day,   and   the 


25S  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


sirocco- wind  which  blows  over  from  the  coast  of  Africa,  filled  the 
streets  with  clouds  of  dust,  which  made  walking  very  unpleasant. 
The  clear  blue  sky  had  vanished,  and  a  leaden  cloud  hung  low 
on  the  Mediterranean,  hiding  the  shores  of  Corsica  and  the  rocky 
isles  of  Gorgona  and  Capraja. 

The  country  between  Leghorn  and  Pisa,  is  a  flat  marsh,  inter- 
sected in  several  places  by  canals  to  carry  off  the  stagnant  water 
which  renders  this  district  so  unhealthy.  It  is  said  that  the  en- 
tire  plain  between  the  mountains*  of  Carrarra  and  the  hills  back 
of  Leghorn  has  been  gradually  formed  by  the  deposits  of  the 
Arno  and  the  receding  of  the  Mediterranean,  which  is  so  shallov/ 
along  the  vvhple  coast,  that  large  vessels  have  to  anchor  several 
miles  out.  As  we  approached  Pisa  over  the  level  marsh,  I  could 
see  the  dome  of  the  Cathedral  and  the  Leaning  Tower  rising 
above  the  gardens  and  groves  which  surround  it. 

Our  baggage  underwent  another  examination  at  the  gate, 
where  we  were  again  assailed  by  the  vetturini,  one  of  whom  hung 
on  us  like  a  leech  till  we  reached  a  hotel,  and  there  was  finally 
no  way  of  shaking  him  off  except  by  engaging  him  to  take  us  to 
Florence.  The  bargain  having  been  concluded,  we  had  still  a 
few  hours  left  and  set  off  to  hunt  the  Cathedral.  We  found  it  on 
an  open  square  near  the  outer  wall,  and  quite  remote  from  the 
main  part  of  the  town.  Emerging  from  the  narrow  and  winding 
street,  one  takes  in  at  a  glance  the  Baptistery,  the  Campo  Santo, 
the  noble  Cathedral  and  the  Leaning  Tower — forming  altogether 
a  view  rarely  surpassed  in  Europe  for  architectural  effect.  But 
the  square  is  melancholy  and  deserted,  and  rank,  untrampled 
grass  fills  the  crevices  of  its  marble  pavement. 

I  was  surprised  at  the  beauty  of  the  Leaning  Tower.  Instead 
of  ah  old,  black,  crumbling  fabric,  as  I  always  supposed,  it  is  a 
light,  airy,  elegant  structu/e,  of  white  marble,  and  its  declension, 
which  is  interesting  as  a  work  of  art  (or  accident,)  is  at  the  same 
time  pleasing  from  its  novelty.  There  have  been  many  conjec- 
tures as  to  the  cause  of  this  deviation,  which  is  upwards  of  four- 
teen feet  from  the  perpendicular;  it  is  now  generally  believed 
that  the  earth  havino;  sunk  when  the  buildinfj  was  half  finished, 
it  was  continued  by  the  architects  in  the  same  angle.  The  up- 
per gallery,  which  is  smaller  than  the  O'.hers,  shows  a  very  per- 


PISA.  259 

ceptible  inclination  Dack  towards  tlie  perpendicular,  as  if  in  some 
degree  to  counterbalance  the  deviation  of  the  other  part.  There 
are  eight  galleries  in  all,  supported  by  marble  pillars,  but  the 
inside  of  the  Tower  is  hollow  to  the  very  top. 

We  ascended  by  the  same  stairs  which  were  trodden  so  often 
by  Galileo  in  going  up  to  make  his  astronomical  observations;  in 
climbing  spirally  around  the  hollow  cylinder  in  the  dark,  it  was 
easy  to  tell  on  which  side  of  the  Tower  we  were,  from  the  pro- 
portionate steepness  of  the  staircase.  There  is  a  fine  view  from 
the  top,  embracing  the  whole  plain  as  far  as  Leghorn  on  one  side, 
with  its  gardens  and  grain  fields  spread  out  like  a  vast  map.  In 
1  valley  of  the  Carrarrese  Mountains  to  the  north,  we  could  see 
the  little  town  of  Lucca,  much  frequented  at  this  season  on  ac- 
count of  its  baths  ;  the  blue  summits  of  the  Appenines  shut  in  the 
view  to  the  east.  In  walking  through  the  city  I  noticed  two  other 
towers,  which  had  nearly  as  great  a  deviation  from  the  perpen- 
dicular. We  met  a  person  who  had  the  key  of  the  Baptist'^ry, 
which  he  opened  for  us.  Two  ancient  columns  covered  with  rich 
sculpture  form  the  doorway,  and  the  dome  is  supported  by  mas- 
sive pillars  of  the  red  marble  of  Elba.  The  baptismal  font  is  of 
the  purest  Parian  marble.  The  most  remarkable  thing  was  the 
celebrated  musical  echo.  Our  cicerone  stationed  himself  at  the 
side  of  the  font  and  sang  a  few  notes.  After  a  moment's  pause 
they  were  repeated  aloft  in  the  dome,  but  with  a  sound  of  divine 
sweetness — as  clear  and  pure  as  the  clang  of  a  crystal  bell. 
Another  pause — and  we  heard  them  again,  higher,  fainter  and 
sweeter,  followed  by  a  dying  note,  as  if  they  were  fading  far  away 
into  heaven.  It  seemed  as  if  an  angel  lingered  in  the  temple, 
echoing  with  his  melodious  lips  the  common  harmonies  of  earth. 
Even  thus  does  the  music  of  good  deeds,  hardly  noted  in  our 
grosser  atmosphere,  awake  a  divine  echo  in  the  far  world  of  spirit. 

The  Campo  Santo,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Cathedral,  was,  until 
lately,  the  cemetery  of  the  city  ;  the  space  enclosed  within  its 
marble  galleries  is  filled  to  the  depth  of  eight  or  ten  feet,  with 
earth  from  the  Holy  Land.  The  vessels  which  carried  the  knights 
of  Tuscany  to  Palestine  were  filled  at  Joppa,  on  returning,  with 
this  earth  as  ballast,  and  on  arriving  at  Pisa  it  was  deposited  in 
the  Cemetery.     It  has  the  peculiar  property  of  decomposing  all 


260  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


human  bodies,  in  the  space  of  two  days.  A  colonnade  of  marble 
encloses  it,  with  windows  of  the  most  exquisite  sculpture  opening 
on  the  inside.  They  reminded  me  of  the  beautiful  Gothic  oriels 
of  Melrose.  At  each  end  are  two  fine,  green  cypresses,  which 
thrive  remarkably  in  the  soil  of  Palestine.  The  dust  of  a  Ger- 
man  emperor,  among  others,  rests  in  this  consecrated  ground. 
There  are  other  fine  churches  in  Pisa,  but  the  four  buildings  I 
have  mentioned,  are  the  principal  objects  of  interest.  The  towei 
where  Count  Ugolino  and  his  sons  were  starved  to  death  by  the 
citizens  of  Pisa,  who  locked  them  up  and  threw  the  keys  into  the 
Arno,  has  lately  been  destroyed. 

An  Italian  gentleman  having  made  a  bargain  in  the  meantime 
with  our  vetturino,  we  found  every  thing  ready  on  returning  to 
the  hotel.  On  the  outside  of  the  town  we  mounted  into  the  vehicle, 
a  rickety-looking  concern,  and  as  it  commenced  raining,  I  was 
afraid  we  would  have  a  bad  night  of  it.  After  a  great  deal  of 
bargaining,  the  vetturino  agreed  to  take  us  to  Florence  that  night 
for  five  francs  a  piece,  provided  one  person  would  sit  on  the  out- 
side with  the  driver.  I  accordingly  mounted  on  front,  protected 
by  a  blouse  and  umbrella,  for  it  was  beginning  to  rain  dismally. 
The  miserable,  bare-boned  horses  were  fastened  with  rope-traces, 
and  the  vetturino  having  taken  the  rope-lines  in  his  hand,  gave  a 
flourish  with  his  whip  ;  one  old  horse  tumbled  nearly  to  the  ground, 
but  he  jerked  him  up  again  and  we  rattled  off. 

After  riding  ten  miles  in  this  way,  it  became  so  wet  and  dreary, 
that  1  was  fain  to  give  the  driver  two  francs  extra,  for  the  privi- 
lege of  an  inside  seat.  Our  Italian  companion  was  agreeable 
and  talkative,  but  as  we  were  still  ignorant  of  the  language,  I 
managed  to  hold  a  scanty  conversation  with  him  in  French.  He 
seemed  delighted  to  learn  that  we  were  from  America ;  his  polite 
reserve  gave  place  to  a  friendly  familiarity  and  he  was  loud  m 
his  praises  of  the  Americans.  I  asked  him  why  it  was  that  he 
and  the  Italians  generally,  were  so  friendly  towards  us.  "  I  hard- 
ly know,"  he  answered  ;  "  you  are  so  difTerent  ^rom  any  other 
nation  ;  and  then,  too,  you  have  so  much  sincerity .'" 

The  Appenines  were  wreathed  and  hidden  in  thick  mist,  and 
the  prospect  over  the  flat  cornfields  bordering  the  road  was  not 
particularly  interesting.     We  had  made  about  one-third  of  the 


NIGHT  TRAVELING.  261 


way  as  night  set  in,  when  on  ascending  a  hill  soon  after  dark, 

F happened  to  look  out,  and  saw  one  of  the  axles  bent  and 

nearly  broken  off.  We  were  obliged  to  get  out  and  walk  through 
the  mud  to  the  next  village,  when  after  two  hours'  delay,  the 
vetturino  canne  along  with  another  carriage.  Of  the  rest  of  the 
way  to  Florence,  I  cannot  say  much.  Cramped  up  in  the  nar- 
row vehicle,  we  jolted  along  in  the  dark,  rumbling  now  and  then 
through  some  silent  village,  where  lamps  were  burning  before  the 
solitary  shrines.  Sometimes  a  blinding  light  crossed  the  road, 
where  we  saw  the  tile-makers  sittinof  in  the  red  glare  of  their 
kilns,  and  often  the  black  boughs  of  trees  were  painted  momen- 
tarily on  the  cloudy  sky.  If  the  jolting  carriage  had  even  per- 
mitted sleep,  the  horrid  cries  of  the  vetturino,  urging  on  his  horses, 
would  have  prevented  it ;  and  I  decided,  while  trying  to  relieve 
my  aching  limbs,  that  three  days'  walking  in  sun  and  sand  was 
preferable  to  one  night  of  such  travel. 

Finally  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  carriage  stopped  ; 
my  Italian  friend  awoke  and  demanded  the  cause.  "  Signer," 
said  the  vetturino,  "  we  are  in  Florence  V  I  blessed  the  man,  and 
the  city  too.  The  good-humored  officer  looked  at  our  passports 
and  passed  our  baggage  without  examination  ;  we  gave  the  gate- 
keeper a  paul  and  he  admitted  us.  The  carriage  rolled  through 
the  dark,  silent  streets — passed  a  public  square — came  out  on  the 
Arno — crossed  and  entered  the  city  again — and  finally  stopped 
at  a  hotel.  The  master  of  the  "  Lione  Bianco''^  came  down  in 
an  undress  to  receive  us,  and  we  shut  the  growing  dawn  out 
ofour  rooms  to  steal  that  repose  from  the  day  which  the  night 
had  not  given. 


^62  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 


FLORENCE    AND    ITS   GALLERIES. 


Sept.  11. — Our  situation  here  is  as  agreeable  as  we  could  well 
desire.  We  have  three  large  and  handsomely  furnished  rooms, 
in  the  centre  of  the  city,  for  which  we  pay  Signer  Lazzeri,  a 
wealthy  goldsmith,  ten  scudo  per  month — a  scudo  being  a  trifle 
more  than  an  American  dollar.  We  live  at  the  Cafes  and  Trat- 
torie  very  conveniently  for  twenty-five  cents  a  day,  enjoying 
moreover,  at  our  dinner  in  the  Trattoria  del  Cacciatore,  the  com- 
pany of  several  American  artists  with  whom  we  have  become  ac- 
quainted. The  day  after  our  arrival  we  met  at  the  table  d'  bote 
of  the  "  Lione  Bianco,"  Dr.  Boardman  of  New  York,  through 
whose  assistance  we  obtained  our  present  lodgings.  There  are 
at  present  ten  or  tv/elve  American  artists  in  Florence,  and  we 
promise  ourselves  much  pleasure  and  profit  from  their  acquaint- 
ance. B and  I  are  so  charmed  with  the  place  and  the  beau- 
tiful Tuscan  dialect,  that  we  shall  endeavor  to  spend  three  or  four 

months  here.     F returns  to  Germany  in  two  weeks,  to  attend 

the  winter  term  of  the  University  at  his  favorite  Fleidelberg. 

Our  first  walk  in  Florence  was  to  the  Royal  Gallery — we 
wished  to  see  the  "  goddess  living  in  stone"  without  delay.  Cross- 
ing the  neighboring  Piazza  del  Granduca,  we  passed  Michael 
Angelo's  colossal  statue  of  David,  and  an  open  gallery  contain- 
ing, besides  some  antiques,  the  master-piece  of  John  of  Bologna. 
The  palace  of  the  Uffizd,  fronting  on  the  Arno,  extends  along 
both  sides  of  an  avenue  running  back  to  the  Palazzo  Vecchio. 
We  entered  the  portico  which  passes  around  under  the  great 
building,  and  after  ascending  three  or  four  fliglits  of  steps,  came 
into  a  long  hall,  filled  with  paintings  and  ancient  statuary.  Tow- 
ards the  end  of  this,  a  door  opened  into  the  Tribune — that  cele- 
brated  room,  unsurpassed  by  any  in  the  world  for  the  number 


THE  ROYAL  GALLERY.  263 


and  value  of  the  gems  it  contains.  I  pushed  aside  a  crimson 
curtain  and  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  Venus. 

It  may  be  considered  heresy,  but  I  confess  I  did  not  at  first  go 
into  raptures,  nor  perceive  any  traces  of  superhuman  beauty. 
The  predominant  feeling,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  was  satisfaction ; 
the  eye  dwells  on  its  faultless  outline  with  a  gratified  sense,  that 
nothing  is  wanting  to  render  it  perfect.  It  is  the  ideal  of  a  wo- 
man's form — a  faultless  standard  by  which  all  beauty  may  be 
measured,  but  without  striking  expression,  except  in  the  modest 
and  graceful  position  of  the  limbs.  The  face,  though  regular,  is 
not  handsome,  and  the  body  appears  small,  being  but  five  feet  in 
height,  which,  I  think,  is  a  little  below  the  average  stature  of 
women.  On  each  side,  as  if  to  heighten  its  elegance  by  contrast 
with  rude  and  unrefined  nature,  are  the  statues  of  the  Wrestlers, 
and  the  slave  listening  to  the  conspiracy  of  Catiline,  called  also 
The  Whetter. 

As  if  to  correspond  with  the  value  of  the  works  it  holds,  the 
Tribune  .'s  paved  with  precious  marbles  and  the  ceiling  studded 
with  polished  mother-of-pearl.  A  dim  and  subdued  light  fills  the 
hall,  which  throws  over  the  mind  that  half-dreamy  tone  necessary 
to  the  full  enjoyment  of  such  objects.  On  each  side  of  the  Venus 
de  Medici  hangs  a  Venus  by  Titian,  the  size  of  life,  and  painted 
in  that  rich  and  gorgeous  style  of  coloring  which  has  been  so 
often  and  vainly  attempted  since  his  time. 

Here  are  six  of  Raphael's  best  preserved  paintings.  I  prefer 
the  "  St.  John  in  the  Desert"  to  any  other  picture  in  the  Tribune. 
His  glorious  form,  in  the  fair  proportions  of  ripening  boyhood — 
the  grace  of  his  attitude,  with  the  arm  lifted  eloquently  on  high — 
the  divine  inspiration  which  illumines  his  young  features — chain 
the  step  irresistibly  before  it.  It  is  one  of  those  triumphs  of  the 
pencil  which  few  but  Raphael  have  accomplished — the  painting 
of  spirit  in  its  loftiest  and  purest  form.  Near  it  hangs  the  For- 
narina,  which  he  seems  to  have  painted  in  as  deep  a  love  as  he 
entertained  for  the  orio-inal.  The  face  is  modest  and  beautiful, 
and  filled  with  an  expression  of  ardent  and  tender  attachment.  I 
never  tire  looking  upon  either  of  these  two. 

Let  me  not  forget,  while  we  are  in  this  peerless  hall,  to  point 
out  Guercino's  Samian  Sybil.     It  is  a  glorious  work,      With  her 


264  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


hands  clasped  over  her  volume,  she  is  looking  up  with  a  face  full 
of  deep  and  expressive  sadness.  A  picturesque  turban  is  twined 
around  her  head,  and  bands  of  pearls  gleam  amidst  her  rich,  dark 
brown  tresses.  Her  face  bears  the  sof'^ness  of  dawning  woman- 
hood, and  nearly  answers  my  ideal  of  female  beauty.  The  same 
artist  has  another  fine  picture  here — a  deeping  Endymion.  The 
mantle  has  fallen  from  his  shoulders,  as  he  reclines  asleep,  with 
his  head  on  his  hand,  and  his  crook  beside  him.  The  silver 
crescent  of  Dian  looks  over  his  shoulder  from  the  sky  behind, 
and  no  wonder  if  she  should  become  enamored,  for  a  lovelier 
shepherd  has  not  been  seen  since  that  of  King  Admetus  went 
back  to  drive  his  chariot  in  the  heavens. 

The  "  Drunken  Bacchus"  of  Michael  Angelo  is  greatly  ad- 
mired, and  indeed  it  might  pass  for  a  relic  of  the  palmiest  times 
of  Grecian  art.  The  face,  amidst  its  half-vacant,  sensual  expres- 
sion, shows  traces  of  its  immortal  origin,  and  there  is  still  an  air 
of  dignity  preserved  in  the  swagger  of  his  beautiful  form.  Tt  is, 
in  a  word,  the  ancient  idea  of  a  drunken  god.  It  may  be  doubted 
whether  the  artist's  talents  might  not  have  been  employed  belter 
than  in  ennobling  intoxication.  If  he  had  represented  Bacchus  as 
he  really  is — degraded  even  below  the  level  of  humanity — it 
might  be  more  beneficial  to  the  mind,  though  less  beautiful  to  the 
eye.  However,  this  is  a  question  on  which  artists  and  moralists 
cannot  agree.  Perhaps,  too,  the  rich  blood  of  the  Falernian  grape 
produced  a  more  godlike  delirium  than  the  vulgar  brandy  which 
oversets  the  moderns ! 

At  one  end  of  the  gallery  is  a  fine  copy  in  marble  of  the  Lao- 
coon,  by  Bandinelli,  one  of  the  rivals  of  Michael  Angelo.  When 
it  was  finished,  the  former  boasted  it  wcs  better  than  the  original, 
to  which  Michael  made  the  apt  reply :  "  It  is  foolish  for  those 
who  walk  in  the  footsteps  of  others,  to  siy  they  go  before  them  !" 

Let  us  enter  the  hall  of  Niobe.  One  starts  back  on  seeing 
the  many  figures  in  the  attitude  of  flight,  for  they  seem  at  first 
about  to  spring  from  their  pedestals.  At  the  head  of  the  room 
stands  the  afflicted  mother,  bending  over  the  youngest  daughter 
who  clings  to  her  knees,  with  an  upturned  countenance  of  deep 
and  imploring  agony.  In  vain  !  the  shafts  of  Apollo  fall  thick, 
and  she  will  soon  be  childless.     No  wonder  the  strength  of  that  wo 


ART  AND  ITALY.  266 


depicted  on  her  countenance  should  change  her  into  stone.  One 
of  her  sons — a  beautiful,  boyish  form, — is  lying  on  his  back,  just 
expiring,  with  the  chill  langour  of  death  creeping  over  his  limbs. 
We  seem  to  hear  the  quick  whistling  of  the  arrows,  and  look  in- 
voluntarily into  the  air  to  see  the  hovering  figure  of  the  avenging 
god.  In  a  chamber  near  is  kept  the  head  of  a  faun,  made  by 
Michael  Angelo,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  in  the  garden  of  Lorenzo 
de  Medici,  from  a  piece  of  marble  given  him  by  the  workmen. 

The  portraits  of  the  painters  are  more  than  usually  interesting. 
Every  countenance  is  full  of  character.  There  is  the  pale,  en- 
thusiastic face  of  Raphael,  the  stern  vigor  of  Titian,  the  majesty 
and  dignity  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  and  the  fresh  beauty  of  An- 
gelica Kauffmann.  I  liked  best  the  romantic  head  of  Raphael 
Mengs.  In  one  of  the  rooms  there  is  a  portrait  of  Alfieri,  with 
an  autograph  sonnet  of  his  own  on  the  back  of  it.  The  house  in 
which  he  lived  and  died,  is  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Arno,  near 
the  Ponte  Caraja,  and  his  ashes  rest  in  Santa  Croce. 

Italy  still  remains  the  home  of  art,  and  it  is  but  just  she  should 
keep  these  treasures,  though  the  age  that  brought  them  forth  has 
passed  away.  They  are  her  only  support  now  ;  her  people  are 
dependent  for  their  subsistence  on  the  glory  of  the  past.  The 
spirits  of  the  old  painters,  living  still  on  their  canvass,  earn  from 
year  to  year  the  bread  of  an  indigent  and  oppressed  people.  This 
oui^ht  to  silence  those  utilitarians  at  home,  who  oppose  the  culti- 
vation of  the  fine  arts,  on  the  ground  of  their  being  useless  luxu- 
ries. Let  them  look  to  Italy,  where  a  picture  by  Raphael  or 
Correggio  is  a  rich  legacy  for  a  whole  city.  Nothing  is  useless 
that  gratifies  that  perception  of  beauty,  which  is  at  once  the  most 
delicate  and  the  most  intense  of  our  mental  sensations,  binding  us 
by  an  unconscious  link  nearer  to  nature  and  to  Him,  whose  every 
thought  is  born  of  Beauty,  Truth  and  Love.  I  envy  not  the  one 
who  looks  with  a  cold  and  indifferent  spirit  on  these  immortal 
creations  of  the  old  masters — these  poems  written  in  marble  and 
on  the  canvass.  They  who  oppose  every  thing  which  can  refine 
and  spiritualize  the  nature  of  man,  by  binding  him  down  to  the 
cares  of  the  work-day  world  alone,  cheat  life  of  half  its  glory. 

The  eighth  of  this  month  was  the  anniversary  of  the  birth  of 
the  Vircrin,  and  the  celebration,  if  such  it  might  be  called,  com- 

13 


266  VIEWS    A-FOOl, 


menced  the  evening  before.  It  is  the  custom,  and  Heaven  only 
knows  how  it  originated,  for  the  people  of  the  lower  class  to  go 
throuo-h  the  streets  in  a  company,  blowing  little  penny  whistles. 
We  were  walking  that  night  in  the  direction  of  the  Duomo,  when 
we  met  a  band  of  these  men,  blowing  with  all  their  might  oq 
the  shrill  whistles,  so  that  the  whole  neighborhood  resounded  with 
one  continual,  piercing,  ear-splitting  shriek.  They  marched  in  a 
kind  of  quick  trot  through  the  streets,  followed  by  a  crowd  of 
boys,  and  varying  the  noise  occasionally  by  shouts  and  howls  of 
the  most  horrible  character.  They  paraded  through  all  the  prin- 
cipal streets  of  the  city,  which  for  an  hour  sent  up  such  an  ago- 
nizing  scream  that  you  might  have  fancied  it  an  enormous  mon- 
ster, expiring  in  great  torment.  The  people  seemed  to  take  the 
whole  thing  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  it  was  to  us  a  novel  man- 
ner of  ushering  in  a  religious  festival. 

The  sky  was  clear  and  blue,  as  it  always  is  in  this  Italian  par- 
adise, when  we  left  Florence  a  few  days  ago  for  Fiesole.  In 
spite  of  many  virtuous  efforts  to  rise  early,  it  was  nine  o'clock 
before  we  left  the  Porta  San  Gallo,  with  its  triumphal  arch  to  the 
Emperor  Francis,  striding  the  road  to  Bologna.  We  passed 
through  the  public  walk  at  this  end  of  the  city,  and  followed  the 
road  to  Fiesole  along  the  dried-up  bed  of  a  mountain  torrent. 
The  dwellings  of  the  Florentine  nobility  occupy  the  whole  slope, 
surrounded  with  rich  and  lovely  gardens.  The  mountain  and 
plain  are  both  covered  with  luxuriant  olive  orchards,  whose  foliage 
of  silver  gray  gives  the  scene  the  look  of  a  moonlight  landscape. 

At  the  base  of  the  mountain  of  Fiesole  we  passed  one  of  the 
summer  palaces  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  and  a  little  distance 
beyond,  took  a  foot-path  overshadowed  by  magnificent  cypresses, 
between  whose  dark  trunks  we  looked  down  on  the  lovely  Val 
d'Arno.  But  I  will  reserve  all  description  of  the  view  till  we 
arrive  at  the  summit. 

The  modern  village  of  Fiesole  occupies  the  site  of  an  ancient 
city,  generally  supposed  to  be  of  Etrurian  origin.  Just  above,  on 
one  of  the  peaks  of  the  mountain,  stands  the  Acropolis,  formerly 
used  as  a  fortress,  but  now  untenanted  save  by  a  few  monks. 
From  the  side  of  its  walls,  beneath  the  shade  of  a  few  cypresses, 
there  is  a  magnificent  view  of  the  whole  of  Val  d'Arno,   with 


THE    -TOP   OF   FIESOLE."  267 


Florence — the  gem  of  Italy — in  the  centre.  Stand  with  me  a 
moment  on  the  height,  and  let  us  gaze  on  this  grand  panorama, 
around  which  the  Apennines  stretch  with  a  majestic  sweep,  wrap- 
ped in  a  robe  of  purple  air,  through  which  shimmer  the  villas  and 
villages  on  their  sides  !  The  lovely  vale  lies  below  us  in  its  garb 
of  olive  groves,  among  which  beautiful  villas  are  sprinkled  as  plen- 
tifully as  white  anemones  in  the  woods  of  May.  Florence  lies 
in  front  of  us,  the  magnificent  cupola  of  the  Duomo  crowning  its 
clustered  palaces.  We  see  the  airy  tower  of  the  Palazzo  Vec- 
chio — the  new  spire  of  Santa  Croce — and  the  long  front  of  the 
Palazzo  Pitti,  with  the  dark  foliage  of  the  Boboli  Gardens  behind. 
Beyond,  far  to  the  south,  are  the  summits  of  the  mountains  near 
Siena.  We  can  trace  the  sandy  bed  of  the  Arno  down  the  val- 
ley till  it  disappears  at  the  foot  of  the  Lower  Apennines,  which 
mingle  in  the  distance  with  the  mountains  of  Carrara. 

Galileo  was  wont  to  make  observations  "at  evening  from  the 
top  of  Fiesole,"  and  the  square  tower  of  the  old  church  is  still 
pointed  out  as  the  spot.  Many  a  night  did  he  ascend  to  its  pro- 
jecting terrace,  and  watch  the  stars  as  they  rolled  around  through 
the  clearest  heaven  to  which  a  philosopher  ever  looked  up. 

We  passed  through  an  orchard  of  fig  trees,  and  vines  laden 
with  beautiful  purple  and  golden  clusters,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
reached  the  remains  of  an  amphitheatre,  in  a  little  nook  on  the 
mountain  side.  This  was  a  work  of  Roman  construction,  as  its 
form  indicates.  Three  or  four  ranges  of  seats  alone,  are  laid 
bare,  and  these  have  only  been  discovered  within  a  few  years.  A 
few  steps  further  we  came  to  a  sort  of  cavern,  overhung  with 
wild  fig-trees.  After  creeping  in  at  the  entrance,  we  found  our- 
selves in  an  ova'  chamber,  tall  enough  to  admit  of  our  standing 
upright,  and  rudely  but  very  strongly  built.  This  was  one  of  the 
dens  in  which  the  wild  beasts  were  kept  ;  they  were  fed  by  a 
hole  in  the  top,  now  closed  up.  This  cell  communicates  with 
four  or  five  others,  by  apertures  broken  in  the  walls.  I  stepped 
into  one,  and  could  see  in  the  dim  light,  that  it  was  exactly  simi- 
lar to  the  first,  and  opened  into  another  beyond. 

Further  down  the  mountain  we  found  the  ancient  wall  of  the 
city,  without  doubt  of  Etrurian  origin.  It  is  of  immense  blocks 
of  stone,  and  extends  more  or  less  dilapidated   around  the  whole 


268  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


brow  of  the  mountain.  In  one  place  there  stands  a  solitary  gate- 
way, of  large  stones,  which  looks  as  if  it  might  have  been  one  of 
the  first  attempts  at  using  the  principle  of  the  arch.  These  ruins 
are  all  gray  and  ivied,  and  it  startles  one  to  think  what  a  history 
Earth  has  lived  through  since  their  foundations  were  laid  ! 

We  sat  all  the  afternoon  under  the  cypress  trees  and  looked 
down  on  the  lovely  valley,  practising  Italian  sometimes  with  two 
young  Florentines  who  came  up  to  enjoy  the  "  Z>e//'  ana"  of  Fie- 
sole.  Descending  as  sunset  drew  on,  we  reached  the  Porta  San 
Gallo.  as  the  people  of  Florence  were  issuing  forth  to  their  even- 
ing promenade. 

One  of  my  first  visits  was  to  the  church  of  Santa  Croce.  This 
is  one  of  the  oldest  in  Florence,  venerated  alike  by  foreigners 
and  citizens,  for  the  illustrious  dead  whose  remains  it  holds.  It 
is  a  plain,  gloomy  pile,  the  front  of  which  is  still  unfinished, 
though  at  the  base,  one  sees  that  it  was  originally  designed  to  be 
covej'ed  with  black  marble.  On  enterinor  the  door  we  first  saw 
the  tomb  of  Michael  Angelo.  Around  the  marble  sarcophagus 
which  contains  his  ashes  are  three  mourning  figures,  representing 
Sculpture,  Painting  and  Architecture,  and  his  bust  stands  above 
— a  rough,  stern  countenance,  like  a  man  of  vast  but  unrefined 
mind.  Further  on  are  the  tombs  of  Alfieri  and  Machiavelli  and 
the  colossal  cenotaph  lately  erected  to  Dante.  Opposite  reposes 
Galileo.  What  a  world  of  renown  in  these  few  names  !  It  makes 
one  venerate  the  majesty  of  his  race,  to  stand  beside  the  dust  of 
such  lofty  spirits. 

Dante's  monument  may  be  said  to  be  only  erected  to  his  mem- 
ory ;  he  sleeps  at  the  plaoo  of  his  exile, 

•'  Like  Scipio,  buried  by  the  upbraiding  shore  !" 

It  is  the  work  of  Ricci,  a  Florentine  artist,  and  has  been  placed 
there  within  a  few  years.  The  colossal  figure  of  Poetry  weeping 
over  the  empty  urn,  might  better  express  the  regret  of  Florence 
in  being  deprived  of  his  ashes.  The  figure  of  Dante  himself, 
seated  above,  is  grand  and  majestic ;  his  head  is  inclined  as  if  in 
meditation,  and  his  features  bear  the  expression  of  sublime 
thought.     Were  this  figure  placed  there  alone,  on  a  simple  and 


SANTA   CROCK.  269 


massive  pedestal,  it  would  be  more  in  keeping  with  his  fame  than 
the  lumbering  heaviness  of  the  present  monument. 

Machiavelli's  tomb  is  adorned  with  a  female  figure  represent- 
ing History,  bearing  his  portrait.  The  inscription,  which  seems 
to  be  somewhat  exaggerated,  is  :  tanto  nomini  nullum  par  elogium. 
Near  lies  Alfieri,  the  "  prince  of  tragedy,"  as  he  is  called  by  the 
Italians.  In  his  life  he  was  fond  of  wandering  among  the  tombs 
of  Santa  Croce,  and  it  is  said  that  there  the  first  desire  and  pre- 
sentiment of  his  future  glory  stirred  within  his  breast.  Now  he 
slumbers  among  them,  not  the  least  honored  name  of  that  immor- 
tal company. 

Galileo's  tomb  is  adorned  with  his  bust.  His  face  is  calm  and 
dignified,  and  he  holds  appropriately  in  his  hands,  a  globe  and 
telescope.  Aretino,  the  historian,  lies  on  his  tomb  with  a  copy 
of  his  works  clasped  to  his  breast ;  above  that  of  Lanzi,  the  his- 
torian of  painting,  there  is  a  beautiful  fresco  of  the  angel  of 
fame  ;  and  opposite  to  him  is  the  scholar  Lamio.  The  most  beau- 
tiful monument  in  the  church  is  that  of  a  Polish  princess,  in  the 
transept.  She  is  lying  on  the  bier,  her  features  settled  in  the  re- 
pose of  death,  and  her  thin,  pale  hands  clasped  across  her  breast. 
The  countenance  wears  that  half-smile,  "  so  coldly  sweet  and 
sadly  fair,"  which  so  often  throws  a  beauty  over  the  face  of  the 
dead,  and  the  light  pall  reveals  the  fixed  yet  graceful  outline  of 
the  form. 

In  that  part  of  the  city,  which  lies  on  the  south  bank  of  the 
Arno,  is  the  palace  of  the  Grand  Duke,  known  by  the  name  of  the 
Palazzo  Pitti,  from  a  Florentine  noble  of  that  name,  by  whom  it 
was  first  built.  It  is  a  very  large,  imposing  pile,  preserving  an 
air  of  lightness  in  spite  of  the  rough,  heavy  stones  of  which  it  is 
built.  It  is  another  example  of  a  magnificent  failure.  The 
Marquis  Strozzi,  having  built  a  palace  which  was  universally 
admired  for  its  beauty,  (which  stands  yet,  a  model  of  chaste  and 
massive  elegance,)  his  rival,  the  Marquis  Pitti,  made  the  proud 
boast  that  he  would  build  a  palace,  in  the  court-yard  of  which 
could  be  placed  that  of  Strozzi.  These  are  actually  the  dimen- 
sions of  the  court-yard  ;  but  in  building  the  palace,  although 
he  was  liberally  assisted  by  the  Florentine  people,  he  ruined 
himself,  and  his  magnificent  residence  passed  into  other  hands. 


270  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


while  that  of  Strozzi  is  inhabited  by  his  descendants  to  this  very 
day. 

The  gallery  of  the  Palazzo  Pitti  is  one  of  the  finest  in  Europe. 
It  contains  six  or  seven  hundred  paintings,  selected  from  the  best 
works  of  the  Italian  masters.  By  the  praiseworthy  liberality  of 
the  Duke,  they  are  open  to  the  public,  six  hours  every  day,  and 
the  rooms  are  thronged  with  artists  of  all  nations. 

Among  Titian's  works,  there  is  his  celebrated  "  Bella,"  a  half- 
length  figure  of  a  young  woman.  It  is  a  masterpiece  of  warm 
and  brilliant  coloring,  without  any  decided  expression.  The 
countenance  is  that  of  vague,  undefined  thought,  as  of  one  who 
knew  as  vet  nothino;  of  the  realities  of  life.  In  another  room  is 
his  Magdalen,  a  large,  voluptuous  form,  with  her  brown  hair  fall- 
ing like  a  veil  over  her  shoulders  and  breast,  but  in  her  upturned 
countenance  cne  can  sooner  read  a  prayer  for  an  absent  lover 
than  repentance  for  sins  she  has  committed. 

What  could  excel  in  beauty  the  Madonna  della  Sedia  of  Ra- 
phael ?  It  is  another  of  those  works  of  that  divine  artist,  on  which 
we  gaze  and  gaze  with  a  never-tiring  enjoyment  of  its  angelic 
beauty.  To  my  eye  it  is  faultless ;  I  could  not  wish  a  single  out- 
line of  form,  a  single  shade  ot  color  changed.  Like  his  unrival- 
led Madonna  in  the  Dresden  Gallery,  its  beauty  is  spiritual  as 
well  as  earthly  ;  and  v.' bile  gazing  on  the  glorious  countenance 
of  the  Jesus-child,  1  feel  an  impulse  I  can  scarcely  explain — a 
longing  to  tear  it  from  the  canvas  as  if  it  were  a  breathing  form, 
and  clasp  it  to  my  heart  in  a  glow  of  passionate  love.  What  a 
sublime  inspiration  Raphael  must  have  felt  when  he  painted  it ! 
Judging  from  its  effect  on  the  beholder,  I  can  conceive  of  no 
higher  mental  excitement  than  that  required  to  create  it. 

Here  are  also  some  of  the  finest  and  best  preserved  pictures  of 
Salvator  Rosa,  and  his  portrait — a  wild  head,  full  of  spirit  and 
genius.  Besides  several  landscapes  in  his  savage  and  stormy 
style,  there  are  two  large  sea-views,  in  whicli  the  atmosphere  is 
of  a  deep  and  exquisite  softness,  without  impairing  the  strength 
and  boldness  of  the  composition.  "  A  Battle  Scene,"  is  terrible. 
Hundreds  of  combatants  are  met  in  the  shock  and  struufrle  of 
conflict.  Horses,  mailed  knights,  vassals  are  mixed  together  in 
wild  confusion  ;  banners  are  waving  and  lances  flashing  amid  the 


GALLERY  OF  THE  GRAND  DUKE.        271 

dust  and  smoke,  while  the  wounded  and  dying  are  trodden  under 
foot  in  darkness  and  blood.  I  now  first  begin  to  comprehend  the 
power  and  sublimity  of  his  genius.  From  the  wildness  and  gloom 
of  his  pictures,  he  might  almost  be  called  the  Byron  of  painters. 

There  is  a  small  group  of  the  "  Fates,"  by  Michael  Angelo, 
which  is  one  of  the  best  of  the  few  pictures  which  remain  of  him. 
As  is  well  known,  he  disliked  the  art,  saying  it  was  only  fit  for 
women.  This  picture  shows,  however,  how  much  higher  he 
might  have  gone,  had  he  been  so  inclined.  The  three  weird  sis- 
ters are  ghostly  and  awful — the  one  who  stands  behind,  holding 
the  distatr,  almost  frightful.  She  who  stands  ready  to  cut  the 
thread  as  it  is  spun  out,  has  a  slight  trace  of  pity  on  her  fixed  and 
unearthly  lineaments.  It  is  a  faithful  embodiment  of  the  oM 
Greek  idea  of  the  Fates.  I  have  wondered  why  some  artist  has 
not  attempted  the  subject  in  a  different  way.  In  the  Northern 
Mythology  they  are  represented  as  wild  maidens,  armed  with 
swords  and  mounted  on  fiery  coursers.  Why  might  they  not 
also  be  pictured  as  angels,  with  countenances  of  a  sublime  and 
mysterious  beauty — one  all  radiant  with  hope  and  promise  of 
glory,  and  one  with  the  token  of  a  better  future  mingled  with  the 
sadness  with  which  it  severs  the  links  of  life  ? 

There  are  many,  many  other  splendid  works  in  this  collection, 
but  it  is  unnecessary  to  mention  them.  I  have  only  endeavored, 
by  taking  a  few  of  the  best  known,  to  give  some  idea  of  them  as 
they  appear  to  me.  There  are  hundreds  of  pictures  here,  which, 
though  gems  in  themselves,  are  by  masters  who  are  rarely  heard 
of  in  America,  and  it  would  be  of  little  interest  to  go  through  the 
Gallery,  describing  it  in  guide-book  fashion.  Indeed,  to  describe 
galleries,  however  rich  and  renowned  they  miay  be,  is  in  general 
a  work  of  so  much  difficulty,  that  I  know  not  whether  the  writer 
or  the  reader  is  made  most  tired  thereby. 

This  collection  possesses  also  the  celebrated  statue  of  Venus, 
by  Canova.  She  stands  in  the  centre  of  a  little  apartment,  filled 
with  the  most  delicate  and  graceful  works  of  painting.  All^iough 
undoubtedly  a  figure  of  great  beauty,  it  by  no  means  struck  me 
as  possessing  that  exquisite  ?nd  classic  perfection  which  has  been 
ascribed  to  it.  The  Venus  de  Medici  far  surpasses  it.  The  head 
is  larger  in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  body,  than  that  of  the  lat 


272  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


ter,  but  has  not  the  same  modest,  virgin  expression.  The  arm 
wrapped  in  the  robe  which  she  is  pressing  to  her  breast,  is  finely 
executed,  but  the  fingers  of  the  other  hand  are  bad — looking,  as 
my  friend  said,  as  if  the  ends  were  whittled  off!  The  body  is, 
however,  of  fine  proportions,  though,  taken  as  a  whole,  the  statue 
is  inferior  to  many  other  of  Canova's  works. 

Occupying  all  the  hill  back  of  the  Pitti  Palace,  are  the  Boboli 
Gardens,  three  times  a  week  the  great  resort  of  the  Florentines. 
They  are  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  gardens  in  Italy.  Num- 
berless paths,  diverging  from  a  magnificent  amphitheatre  in  the 
old  Roman  style,  opposite  the  court-yard,  lead  either  in  long 
flights  of  steps  and  terraces,  or  gentle  windings  among  beds  sweet 
with  roses,  to  the  summit.  Long  avenues,  entirely  arched  and 
interwoven  with  the  thick  foliage  of  the  laurel,  which  here  grows 
to  a  tree,  stretch  along  the  slopes  or  wind  in  the  woods  through 
thickets  of  the  fragrant  bay.  Parterres,  rich  with  flowers  and 
shrubbery,  alternate  with  delightful  groves  of  the  Italian  pine, 
acacia  and  laurel-leaved  oak,  and  along  the  hillside,  gleaming 
among  the  foliage,  are  placed  statues  of  marble,  some  of  which 
are  from  the  chisels  of  Michael  Angelo  and  Bandinelli.  In  one 
part  there  is  a  little  sheet  of  water,  with  an  island  of  orange-trees 
in  the  centre,  from  which  a  broad  avenue  of  cypresses  and  sta- 
tues leads  to  the  very  summit  of  the  hill. 

We  often  go  there  to  watch  the  sun  set  over  Florence  and  the 
vale  of  the  Arno.  The  palace  lies  directly  below,  and  a  clump 
of  pine-trees  on  the  hillside,  that  stand  out  in  bold  relief  on  the 
glowing  sky,  makes  the  foreground  to  one  of  the  loveliest  pictures 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  I  saw  one  afternoon  the  Grand  Duke 
and  his  family  get  into  their  carriage  to  drive  out.  One  of  the 
little  dukes,  who  seemed  a  mischievous  imp,  ran  out  on  a  projec- 
tion of  the  portico,  where  considerable  persuasion  had  to  be  used 
to  induce  him  to  jump  into  the  arms  of  his  royal  papa.  I  tuined 
from  these  titled  infants  to  watch  a  group  of  beautiful  American 
children  playing,  for  my  attention  was  drawn  to  them  by  the 
sound  of  familiar  words,  and  I  learned  afterwards  they  were  the 
children  of  the  sculptor  Powers.  I  contrasted  involuntarily  the 
destinies  of  each  ; — one  to  the  enjoyment  and  proud  energy  of 


AMERICAN  CHILDREN.  273 

freedom,  and  one  to  the  confining  and  vitiating  atmosphere  of  a 
court.  The  merry  voices  of  the  latter,  as  they  played  on  the 
grass,  came  to  my  ears  most  gratefully.  There  is  nothing  so 
sweet  as  to  hear  one's  native  tongue  in  a  foreign  land  from  the 
lips  of  children ! 


274  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  VALLOMIROSA. 


A  PILGRIMAGE  to  Vallonibrosa ! — in  sooth  it  has  a  romantic 
sound.  The  phrase  calls  up  images  of  rosaries,  and  crosses,  and 
shaven-headed  friars.  Had  we  lived  in  the  olden  days,  such 
things  might  verily  have  accompanied  our  journey  to  that  holy 
monastery.  We  might  then  have  gone  barefoot,  saying  prayers 
as  we  toiled  along  the  banks  of  the  Arno  and  up  the  steep  Appe- 
nines,  as  did  Benevenuto  Cellini,  before  he  poured  the  melted 
bronze  into  the  mould  of  his  immortal  Perseus.  But  we  are  pil- 
grims to  the  shrines  of  Art  and  Genius  ;  the  dwelling-places  of 
great  minds  are  our  sanctuaries.  The  mean  dwelling,  in  which 
a  poet  has  battled  down  poverty  with  the  ecstacy  of  his  mighty 
conceptions,  and  the  dungeon  in  which  a  persecuted  philosopher 
has  languished,  are  to  us  sacred  ;  we  turn  aside  from  the  palaces 
of  kings  and  the  battle-fields  of  conquerors,  to  visit  them.  The 
famed  miracles  of  San  Giovanni  Gualberto  added  little,  in  our 
eyes,  to  the  interest  of  Vallombrosa,  but  there  were  reverence 
and  inspiration  in  the  names  of  Dante,  Milton,  and  Ariosto. 

We  left  Florence  early,  taking  the  way  that  leads  from  the 
Porta  della  Croce,  up  the  north  bank  of  the  Arno.  It  was  a 
bright  morning,  but  there  was  a  shade  of  vapor  on  the  hills, 
which  a  practised  eye  might  have  taken  as  a  prognostic  of  the 
rain  that  too  soon  came  on.  Fiesole,  with  its  tower  and  Acropolis, 
stood  out  brightly  from  the  blue  background,  and  the  hill  of  San 
Miniato  lay  with  its  cypress  groves  in  the  softest  morning  light. 
The  Contadini  were  driving  into  the  city  in  their  basket  wagons, 
and  there  were  some  fair  young  faces  among  them,  that  made  us 
think  Italian  beauty  was  not  altogether  in  the  imagination. 

After  walking  three  or  four  miles,  we  entered  the  Appenines, 
keeping  along  the  side  of  the  Arno,  whose  bed  is  more  than  half 


PEASANTS   OF   THE  APPENINES.  275 

dried  up  from  the  long  summer  heats.  The  mountain  sides  were 
covered  with  vineyards,  glowing  with  their  wealth  of  white  and 
purple  grapes,  but  the  summits  were  naked  and  barren.  We 
passed  through  the  little  town  of  Ponte  Sieve,  at  the  entrance  of  a 
romantic  valley,  where  our  view  of  the  Arno  was  made  more  in- 
teresting by  the  lofty  range  of  the  Appenines,  amid  whose  forests 
we  could  see  the  white  front  of  the  monastery  of  Vallombrosa. 
But  the  clouds  sank  low  and  hid  it  from  siglit,  and  the  rain  came 
on  sa  hard  that  we  were  obliged  to  take  shelter  occasionally  in 
the  cottages  by  the  wayside.  In  one  of  these  we  made  a  dinner 
of  the  hard,  black  bread  of  the  country,  rendered  palatable  by 
the  addition  of  mountain  cheese  and  some  chips  of  an  antique 
Bologna  sausage.  We  were  much  amused  in  conversing  with 
the  simple  hosts  and  their  shy,  gipsy-like  children,  one  of  whom, 
a  dark-eyed,  curly-haired  boy,  bore  the  name  of  Raphael.  We 
also  became  acquainted  with  a  shoemaker  and  his  family,  who 
owned  a  little  olive  orchard  and  vineyard,  which  they  said  pro- 
duced enough  to  support  them.  Wishing  to  know  much  a  family 
of  six  consumed  in  a  year,  we  inquired  the  yield  of  their  pro- 
perty. They  answered,  twenty  small  barrels  of  wine,  and  ten 
of  oil.  It  was  nearly  sunset  when  we  reached  Pellago,  and  the 
wet  walk  and  coarse  fare  we  were  obliged  to  take  on  the  road, 
well  qualified  us  to  enjoy  the  excellent  supper  the  pleasant  land- 
lady gave  us. 

This  little  town  is  among  the  Appenines,  at  the  foot  of  the  mag- 
nificent mountain  of  Vallombrosa.  What  a  blessing  it  was  for 
Milton,  that  he  saw  its  loveliness  before  his  eyes  closed  on  this 
beautiful  earth,  and  gained  from  it  another  hue  in  which  to  dip 
his  pencil,  when  he  painted  the  bliss  of  Eden  !  I  watched  the 
hills  all  day  as  we  approached  them,  and  thought  how  often  his 
eyes  had  rested  on  their  outlines,  and  how  he  had  carried  their 
forms  in  his  memory  for  many  a  sunless  year.  The  banished 
Dante,  too,  had  trodden  them,  flying  from  his  ungrateful  country  ; 
and  many  another,  whose  genius  has  made  him  a  beacon  in  the  dark 
sea  of  the  world's  history.  It  is  one  of  those  places  where  the  en- 
joyment is  all  romance,  and  the  blood  thrills  as  we  gaze  upon  it. 

We  started  early  next  morning,  crossed  the  ravine,  and  took 
the  well-paved  way  to  the  monastery  along  the  mountain  side. 


276  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


The  stones  are  worn  smooth  by  the  sleds  in  which  ladies  and 
provisions  are  conveyed  up,  drawn  by  the  beautiful  white  Tuscan 
oxen.  The  hills  are  covered  with  luxuriant  chesnut  and  oak 
trees,  of  those  picturesque  forms  which  they  only  wear  in  Italy : 
one  wild  dell  in  particular  is  much  resorted  to  by  painters  for  the 
ready-made  foregrounds  it  supplies.  Further  on,  we  passed  the 
Paterno,  a  rich  farm  belonging  to  the  Monks.  The  vines  which 
hung  from  tree  to  tree,  were  almost  breaking  beneath  clusters  as 
heavy  and  rich  as  those  which  the  children  of  Israel  bore  on 
staves  from  the  Promised  Land.  Of  their  flavor,  we  can  say, 
from  experience,  they  were  worthy  to  have  grown  in  Paradise. 
We  then  entered  a  deep  dell  of  the  mountain,  where  little  shep- 
herd girls  were  sitting  on  the  rocks  tending  their  sheep  and 
spinning  with  their  fingers  from  a  distaff,  in  the  same  manner, 
doubtless,  as  the  Roman  shepherdesses  two  .thousand  years  ago. 
Gnarled,  gray  olive  trees,  centuries  old,  grew  upon  the  bare  soil, 
and  a  little  rill  fell  in  many  a  tiny  cataract  down  the  glen.  By 
a  mill,  in  one  of  the  coolest  and  wildest  nooks  I  ever  saw,  two  of 
us  acted  the  part  of  water-spirits  under  one  of  these,  to  the  great 
astonishment  of  four  peasants,  who  watched  us  from  a  distance. 

Beyond,  our  road  led  through  forests  of  chesnut  and  oak,  and 
a  broad  view  of  mountain  and  vale  lay  below  us.  We  asked  a 
peasant  boy  we  met,  how  much  land  the  Monks  of  Vallombrosa 
possessed.  "  All  that  you  see .'"  was  the  reply.  The  dominion 
of  the  good  fathers  reached  once  even  to  the  gates  of  Florence. 
At  length,  about  noon,  we  emerged  from  the  woods  into  a  broad 
avenue  leading  across  a  lawn,  at  whose  extremity  stood  the  mas- 
sive buildings  of  the  monastery.  On  a  rock  that  towered  above 
it,  was  the  Paradisino,  beyond  which  rose  the  mountain,  covered 
with  forests — 


"  Shade  above  shade,  a  woody  theatre 
Of  stateliest  view" — 


as  Milton  describes  it.  We  were  met  at  the  entrance  by  a  young 
monk  in  cowl  and  cassock,  to  whom  we  applied  for  permission  to 
stay  till  the  next  day,  which  was  immediately  given.  Brother 
Placido  (for  that  was  his  name)  then  asked  us  if  we  would  not 
have  dinner.     We  replied  that  our  appetites  were  none  the  worse 


VALLOMBROSA.  277 


for  climbinfT  the  mountain  ;  and  in  half  an  hour  sat  down  to  a 
dinner,  the  like  of  which  we  had  not  seen  for  a  long  time.  Verily, 
thought  I,  it  must  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  a  monk,  after  all ! — 
thai  is,  a  monk  of  Vallombrosa. 

In  the  afternoon  we  walked  through  a  grand  pine  forest  to  the 

western  brow  of  the  mountain,   where  a  view  opened  which  it 

would  require  a  wonderful  power  of  the  imagination  for  you  to  see 

in  fancy,  as  I  did  in  reality.     From  the  height  where  we  stood,  the 

view  was  uninterrupted  to  the  Mediterranean,  a  distance  of  more 

than  seventy  miles ;    a  valley  watered  by  a  branch  of  the  Arno 

swept  far  to  the  east,  to  the  mountains  near  the  Lake  of  Thrasy- 

tnene  ;  northwestw^ards  the  hills  of  Carrara  bordered  the  horizon  ; 

the  space  between  these  wide  points  was  filled  with  mountains 

and  valleys,  all  steeped  in  that  soft  blue  mist  which  makes  Italian 

landscapes  more  like  heavenly  visions  than  realities.     Florence 

was  visible  afar  off,  and  the  current  of  the  Arno  flashed  in  the 

sun.     A  cool  and  almost  chilling  wind  blew  constantly  over  the 

mountain,  although  tke  country  below  basked  in  summer  heat. 

We  lay  en  the  rocks,  and  let  our  souls  luxuriate  in  the  lovely 

scene  till  near   sunset.     Brother  Placido  brought   us  supper  in 

the  evening,  with  his  ever-smiling  countenance,  and  we  soon  after 

went  to  our  beds  in  the  neat,  plain  chambers,  to  get  rid  of  the 

unpleasant  coldness. 

Next  morning  it  was  damp  and  misly,  and  thick  clouds  rolled 
down  the  forests  towards  the  convent.  I  set  out  for  the  "  Little 
Paradise,"  taking  in  my  way  the  pretty  cascade  which  falls 
some  fifty  feet  down  the  rocks.  The  building  is  not  now  as  it 
was  when  Milton  lived  here,  having  been  rebuilt  within  a  short 
lime.  I  found  no  one  there,  and  satisfied  my  curiosity  by  climb- 
ing over  the  wall  and  looking  in  at  the  windows.  A  little  chapel 
stands  in  a  cleft  of  the  rock  below,  to  mark  the  miraculous  escape 
of  St.  John  Gualberto,  founder  of  the  monastery.  Being  one  day 
very  closely  pursued  by  the  Devil,  he  took  shelter  under  the 
rock,  which  immediately  became  soft  and  admitted  him  into  it, 
while  the  fiend,  unable  to  stop,  was  precipitated  over  the  steep. 
All  this  is  related  in  a  Latin  inscription,  and  we  saw  a  large  hoi- 
low  in  the  rock  near,  which  must  have  been  intended  for  the  im- 
print left  by  his  sacred  person. 


27S  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


One  of  the  monks  told  us  another  letjend.  concerninof  a  little 
chapel  which  stands  alone  on  a  wild  part  of  the  mountain, 
above  a  rough  pile  of  crags,  called*  the  "Peak  of  the  Devil." 
'*  In  the  time  of  San  Giovanni  Gualberto,  the  holy  founder  of 
our  order,"  said  he,  "  there  was  a  young  man,  of  a  noble  family 
in  Florence,  who  was  so  moved  by  the  words  of  the  saintly 
father,  that  he  forsook  the  world,  wherein  he  had  lived  with  great 
luxury  and  dissipation,  and  became  monk.  But,  after  a  time, 
being  young  and  tempted  again  by  the  pleasures  he  had  re- 
nounced, he  put  off  the  sacred  garments.  The  holy  San  Gio- 
vanni warned  him  of  the  terrible  danger  in  which  he  stood,  and  at 
length  the  wicked  young  man  returned.  It  was  not  a  great  while, 
however,  before  he  became  dissatisfied,  and  in  spite  all  iioly  coun- 
sel, did  the  same  thing  again.  But  behold  what  ha;?pened  !  As 
he  was  walking  along  the  peak  where  the  chapel  stands,  thinking 
nothing  of  his  great  crime,  the  devil  sprang  sudcJenly  from  behind 
a  rock,  and  catching  the  young  man  in  his  arms,  before  he  could 
escape,  carried  him  with  a  dreadful  noise  and  a  great  red  flame 
and  smoke  over  the  precipice,  so  that  he  was  never  afterwards 
seen." 

The  church  attached  to  the  monastery  is  small,  but  very 
solemn  and  venerable.  I  went  several  times  to  muse  in  its  still, 
gloomy  aisle,  and  hear  the  murmuring  chant  of  the  Monks,  who 
went  through  their  exercises  in  some  of  the  chapels.  At  one 
time  I  saw  them  all,  in  long  black  cassocks,  march  in  solemn 
order  to  the  chapel  of  St.  John  Gualberto,  where  they  sang  a  deep 
chant,  which  to  me  had  something  awful  and  sepulchral  in  it. 
Behind  the  high  altar  I  saw  their  black,  carved  chairs  of  polished 
oak,  with  ponderous  gilded  foliants  lying  on  the  rails  before  them. 
The  attendant  opened  one  of  these,  that  we  might  see  the  manu- 
script notes,  three  or  four  centuries  old,   from  which  they  sung. 

We  were  much  amused  in  looking  through  two  or  three  Italian 
books,  which  were  lying  in  the  traveler's  room.  One  of  these 
which  our  friend  Mr.  Tandy,  of  Kentucky,  read,  described  the 
miracles  of  the  patron  saint  with  an  air  of  the  most  ridiculous 
solemnity.  The  other  was  a  description  of  the  Monastery,  its 
foundation,  history,  etc.  In  mentioning  its  great  and  far-spread 
renown,  the  author  stated  than  even  an  English  poet,  by  the  name 


SUNSET  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  279 

of  Milton,  had  mentioned  it  in  the  following  lines,  which  I  copied 
verbatim  from  the  book : 

"  Thick  as  autumnal  scaves  tliat  strow  she  brooks 
In  vallombrosa,  whcreth  Etruian  Jades 
Stigh  over  orch  d'embrover  !'"' 

In  looking  over  the  stranger's  book,  I  found  among  the  names 
of  my  countrymen,  that  of  S.  V.  Clevenger,  the  talented  and  la- 
mented sculptor  who  died  at  sea  on  his  passage  home.  There 
were  also  the  names  of  Mrs.  Shelley  and  the  Princess  Potemkin, 
and  I  saw  written  on  the  wall,  the  autograph  of  Jean  Reboul,  the 
celebrated  modern  French  poet.  We  were  so  delighted  with  the 
place  we  would  have  stayed  another  day,  but  for  fear  of  trepass- 
ing  too  much  on  the  lavish  and  unceasing  hospitality  of  the  good 
fathers. 

So  in  the  afternoon  we  shook  hands  with  Brother  Placido,  and 
turned  our  backs  regretfully  upon  one  of  the  loneliest  and  love- 
liest spots  of  which  earth  can  boast.  The  sky  became  gradually 
clear  as  we  descended,  and  the  mist  raised  itself  from  the  distant 
mountains.  We  ran  down  through  the  same  chesnut  groves,  di- 
verging a  little  to  go  through  the  village  of  Tosi,  which  is  very 
picturesque  when  seen  from  a  distance,  but  extremely  dirty  to 
one  passing  through.  I  stopped  in  the  ravine  below  to  take  a  sketch 
of  the  mill  and  bridge,  and  as  we  sat,  the  line  of  golden  sunlight 
rose  higher  on  the  mountains  above.  On  walking  down  the 
shady  side  of  this  glen,  we  were  enraptured  with  the  scenery.  A 
brilliant  yet  mellow  glow  lay  over  the  whole  opposing  height, 
lighting  up  the  houses  of  Tosi  and  the  white  cottages  half  seen 
among  the  olives,  while  the  mountain  of  Vallombrosa  stretched 
far  heavenward  like  a  sunny  painting,  with  only  a  misty  wreath 
floating  and  waving  around  its  summit.  The  glossy  foliage  of  the 
chesnuts  was  made  still  brighter  by  the  warm  light,  and  the  old 
olives  softened  down  into  a  silvery  gray,  whose  contrast  gave  the 
landscape  a  character  of  the  mellowest  beauty.  As  we  wound 
out  of  the  deep  glen,  the  broad  valleys  and  ranges  of  the  Appe- 
nines  lay  before  us,  forests,  castles  and  villages  steeped  in  the 
soft,  vapory  blue  of  the  Italian  atmosphere,  and  the  current  of  the 
Arno  flashing  like  a  golden  belt  through  the  middle  of  the  picture. 


880  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 

The  sun  was  nearly  down,  and  the  mountains  just  below  him 
were  of  a  deep  purple  hue,  while  those  that  ran  out  to  the  east- 
ward wore  the  most  aerial  shade  of  blue.  A  few  scattered  clouds, 
floating  above,  soon  put  on  the  sunset  robe  of  orange  and  a  band 
of  the  same  soft  color  encircled  the  western  horizon.  It  did  not 
reach  half  way  to  the  zenith,  however ;  the  sky  above  was  blue, 
of  such  a  depth  and  transparency,  that  to  gaze  upward  was  like 
looking  into  enternity.  Then  how  softly  and  soothingly  the  twilight 
came  on !  How  deep  a  hush  sank  on  the  chesnut  glades,  broken 
only  by  the  song  of  the  cicada,  chirping  its  "  good-night  carol  !" 
The  mountains,  too,  how  majestic  they  stood  in  their  deep  purple 
outlines  !  Sweet,  sweet  Italy  !  I  can  feel  now  how  the  soul  may 
cling  to  thee,  since  thou  canst  thus  gratify  its  insatiable  thirst  for 
the  Beautiful.  Even  thy  plainest  scene  is  clothed  in  hues  that 
seem  borrowed  of  heaven !  In  the  twilight,  more  radiant  than 
light,  and  the  stillness,  more  eloquent  than  music,  which  sink 
down  over  the  sunny  beauty  of  thy  shores,  there  is  a  silent,  in- 
tense poetry  that  stirs  the  soul  through  all  its  impassioned 
depths.  With  warm,  blissful  tears  filling  the  eyes  and  a  heart 
overflowing  with  its  own  bright  fancies,  I  wander  in  the  solitude 
and  calm  of  such  a  time,  and  love  thee  as  if  I  were  a  child  of  thy 
soil  I 


A  COUNTRY  INN.  281 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

WALK    TO    SIENA    AND   PRATOLINO INCIDENTS    IN    FLORENCE. 

Octoler  16. — My  cousin,  being  anxious  to  visit  Rome,  and 
reach  Heidelberg  before  the  commencement  of  the  winter  semes- 
tre,  set  out  towards  the  end  of  September,  on  foot.  We  accom- 
panied him  as  far  as  Siena,  forty  miles  distant.  As  I  shall  most 
probably  take  another  road  to  the  Eternal  City,  the  present  is  a 
good  opportunity  to  say  something  of  that  romantic  old  town,  so 
famous  throughout  Italy  for  the  honesty  of  its  inhabitants. 

We  dined  the  first  day,  seventeen  miles  from  Florence,  at  Ta- 
venella,  w  here,  for  a  meagre  dinner  the  hostess  had  the  assurance 
to  ask  us  seven  pauls.  We  told  her  we  would  give  but  four  and 
a  half,  and  by  assuming  a  decided  manner,  with  a  plentiful  use 
of  the  word  "  Signora'^  she  was  persuaded  to  be  fully  satisfied 
with  the  latter  sum.  From  a  height  near,  we  could  see  the 
mountains  coasting  the  Mediterranean,  and  shortly  after,  on  de- 
scending a  long  hill,  the  little  town  of  Poggibonsi  lay  in  the  warm 
afternoon  light,  on  an  eminence  before  us.  It  was  soon  passed 
with  its  dusky  towers,  then  Stagia  looking  desolate  in  its  ruined 
and  ivied  walls,  and  following  the  advice  of  a  peasant,  we  stop- 
ped for  the  night  at  the  inn  of  Querciola.  As  we  knew  some- 
thing of  Italian  by  this  time,  we  thought  it  best  to  inquire  the 
price  of  lodging,  before  entering.  The  padrone  asked  if  we  meant 
to  take  supper  also.  We  answered  in  the  affirmative  ;  "  then," 
said  he,  "  you  will  pay  half  a  paul  (about  five  cents)  apiece  for 
a  bed."  We  passed  under  the  swinging  bunch  of  boughs,  which 
in  Italy  is  the  universal  sign  of  an  inn  for  the  common  people, 
and  entered  the  bare,  smoky  room  appropriated  to  travelers.  A 
long  table,  with  well-worn  benches,  were  the  only  furniture  ;  we 
threw  our  knapsacks  on  one  end  of  it  and  sat  down,  amusing  our- 
selves while  supper  was  preparing,  in  looking  at  a  number  of 


282  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


grotesque  charcoal  drawings  on  the  wall,  which  the  flaring  light 
of  our  tall  iron  lamp  revealed  to  us.  At  length  the  hostess,  a 
kindly-looking  woman,  with  a  white  handkerchief  folded  grace- 
fully around  her  head,  brought  us  a  dish  of  fried  eggs,  which, 
with  the  coarse  black  bread  of  the  peasants  and  a  basket-full  of 
rich  grapes,  made  us  an  excellent  supper.  We  slept  on  mat- 
tresses stuffed  with  corn- husks,  placed  on  square  iron  frames, 
which  are  the  bedsteads  most  used  in  Italy.  A  brightly-painted 
caricature  of  some  saint  or  a  rough  crucifix,  trimmed  with  bay- 
leaves,  hung  at  the  head  of  each  bed,  and  under  their  devout 
protection  we  enjoyed  a  safe  and  unbroken  slumber. 

Next  morning  we  set  out  early  to  complete  the  remaining  ten 
miles  to  Siena.  The  only  thing  of  interest  on  the  road,  is  the 
ruined  wall  and  battlements  of  Castiglione,  circling  a  high  hill 
and  looking  as  old  as  the  days  of  Etruria.  The  towers  of  Siena 
are  seen  at  some  distance,  but  approaching  it  from  this  side,  the 
traveler  does  not  perceive  its  romantic  situation  until  he  arrives. 
It  stands  on  a  double  hill,  which  is  very  steep  on  some  sides  ;  the 
hollow  between  the  two  peaks  is  occupied  by  the  great  public 
square,  ten  or  fifteen  feet  lower  than  the  rest  of  the  city.  We 
left  our  knapsacks  at  a  cafe  and  sought  the  celebrated  Cathedral, 
which  stands  in  the  highest  part  of  the  town,  forming  with  its 
flat  dome  and  lofty  marble  tower,  an  apex  to  the  pyramidal  mass 
of  buildings. 

The  interior  is  rich  and  elegantly  perfect.  Every  part  is  of 
black  and  white  marble,  in  what  I  should  call  the  striped  style, 
which  has  a  singular  but  agreeable  effect.  The  inside  of  the 
dome  and  the  vaulted  ceilings  of  the  chapels,  are  of  blue,  with 
golden  stars ;  the  pavement  in  the  centre  is  so  precious  a  work 
that  it  is  kept  covered  with  boards  and  only  shown  once  a  year. 
There  are  some  pictures  of  great  value  in  this  Cathedral ;  one 
of  "  The  Descent  of  the  Dove,"  is  worthy  of  the  best  days  of 
Italian  art.  In  an  adjoining  chamber,  with  frescoed  walls,  and 
a  beautiful  tesselated  pavement,  is  the  library,  consisting  of  a  few 
huge  old  volumes,  which  witli  their  brown  covers  and  brazen 
clasps,  look  as  much  like  a  collection  of  flat  leather  trunks  as 
any  thing  else.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  stands  the  mutilated 
group  of  the  Grecian  Graces,  found  in  digging  the  foundation  of 


RETURN   TO   FLORENCE.  283 

the  Cathedral.  The  figures  are  still  beautiful  and  graceful,  with 
that  exquisite  curve  of  outline  which  is  sucli  a  charm  in  the  an- 
tique statues.  Canova  has  only  perfected  the  idea  in  his  cele- 
brated group,  which  is  nearly  a  copy  of  this. 

We  strolled  through  the  square  and  then  accompdnied  our 
friend  to  the  Roman  gate,  where  we  took  leave  of  him  ioi  six 
months  at  least.  He  felt  lonely  at  the  thought  of  walking  in  Italy 
without  a  companion,  but  was  cheered  by  the  anticipation  of  soon 
reaching  Rome.  We  watched  him  awhile,  walking  rapidly  ovei 
the  hot  plain  towards  Radicofani,  and  then,  turning  our  faces 
with  much  pleasure  towards  Florence,  we  commenced  the  return 
walk.  I  must  not  forget  to  mention  the  delicious  grapes  Avhich 
we  bougFit,  begged  and  stole  on  the  way.  The  whole  country  is 
like  one  vineyard — and  the  people  live,  in  a  great  measure,  on 
the  fruit,  during  this  part  of  the  year.  Would  you  not  think  il 
highly  romantic  and  agreeable  to  sit  in  the  shade  of  a  cypress 
grove,  beside  some  old  weather-beaten  statues,  looking  out  over 
the  vales  of  Lhe  Appenines,  with  a  pile  of  white  and  purple  grapes 
beside  you,  the  like  of  which  can  scarcely  be  had  in  America  foi 
love  or  money,  and  which  had  been  given  you  by  a  dark-eyea 
peasant  girl  ?  If  so,  you  may  envy  us,  for  such  was  exactly  oui 
situation  on  the  morning  before  reaching  Florence. 

Being  in  the  Duomo,  two  or  three  days  ago,  I  met  a  German 
traveler,  who  has  walked  through  Italy  thus  far,  and  intends  con- 
tinuing his  journey  to  Rome  and  Naples.  His  name  is  Von 
Raumer.  He  was  well  acquainted  with  the  present  state  ot 
America,  and  I  derived  much  pleasure  from  his  intelligent  con- 
versation. We  concluded  to  ascend  the  cupola  in  company. 
Two  black-robed  boys  led  the  way  ;  after  climbing  an  infinitt 
number  of  steps,  we  reached  the  gallery  around  the  foot  of  the 
dome.  The  glorious  view  of  that  paradise,  the  vale  of  the  Arno, 
shut  in  on  all  sides  by  mountains,  some  bare  and  desolate,  some 
covered  with  villas,  gardens,  and  groves,  lay  in  soft,  hazy  light, 
with  the  shadows  of  a  few  light  clouds  moving  slowly  across  it. 
They  next  took  us  to  a  gallery  on  the  inside  of  the  dome,  where 
we  first  saw  the  immensity  of  its  structure.  Only  from  a  distant 
view,  or  in  ascending  it,  can  one  really  measure  its  grandeur. 
The  frescoes,  which  from  below  appear  the  size  of  life,  are  found 


084  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


to  be  rough  and  monstrous  daubs  ;  each  figure  being  nearly  as 
many  fathoms  in  length  as  a  man  is  feet.  Continuing  our  ascent, 
we  mounted  between  the  inside  and  outside  shells  of  the  dome. 
It  was  indeed  a  bold  idea  for  Brunelleschi  to  raise  such  a  mass  in 
air.  The  dome  of  Saint  Peter's,  which  is  scarcely  as  large,  was 
not  made  until  a  century  after,  and  this  was,  therefore,  the  first 
attempt  at  raising  one  on  so  grand  a  scale.  It  seems  still  as 
solid  as  if  just  built. 

There  was  a  small  door  in  one  of  the  projections  of  the  lantern, 
which  the  sacristan  told  us  to  enter  and  ascend  still  higher. 
Supposing  there  was  a  fine  view  to  be  gained,  two  priests,  who 
had  just  come  up,  entered  it ;  the  German  followed,  and  I  after 
him.  After  crawling  in  at  the  low  door,  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
hollow  pillar,  little  wider  than  our  bodies.  Looking  up,  I  saw 
the  German's  legs  just  above  my  head,  while  the  other  two  were 
above  him,  ascending  by  means  of  little  iron  bars  fastened  in  the 
marble.  The  priests  were  very  much  amused,  and  the  German 
said  : — "  This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  learned  chimney-sweeping  !" 
We  emerged  at  length  into  a  hollow  cone,  hot  and  dark,  with  a 
rickety  ladder  going  up  somewhere  ;  we  could  not  see  where. 
The  old  priest,  not  wishing  to  trust  himself  to  it,  sent  his  younger 
brother  up,  and  we  shouted  after  him  : — "  What  kind  of  a  view 
have  you  ?"  He  climbed  up  till  the  cone  got  so  narrow  he  could 
go  no  further,  and  answered  back  in  the  darkness: — "I  see 
nothing  at  all  !"  Shortly  after  he  came  down,  covered  with  dust 
and  cobwebs,  and  we  all  descended  the  chimney  quicker  than  we 
went  up.  The  old  priest  considered  it  a  good  joke,  and  laughed 
till  his  fat  sides  shook.  We  asked  the  sacristan  why  he  sent  us 
up,  and  he  answered  : — "  To  see  the  construction  of  the  Church  .'" 

I  attended  service  in  the  Cathedral  one  dark,  rainy  morning, 
and  was  never  before  so  deeply  impressed  with  the  majesty  and 
grandeur  of  the  mighty  edifice.  The  thick,  cloudy  atmosphere 
darkened  still  more  the  light  which  came  through  the  stamed 
windows,  and  a  solemn  twilight  reigned  in  the  long  aisles.  The 
mighty  dome  sprang  far  aloft,  as  if  it  enclosed  a  part  of  heaven, 
for  the  light  that  struggled  through  the  windows  around  its  base, 
lay  in  broad  bars  on  the  blue,  hazy  air.  I  would  not  have  been 
surprised  at  seeing  a  cloud  float  along  within  it.     The  lofty  burst 


WALK   TO   PRATOLINO.  285 

of  the  organ,  that  seeined  like  the  pantings  of  a  monster,  boomed 
echoing  away  through  dome  and  nave,  with  a  chiming,  metallic 
vibration,  that  shook  the  massive  pillars  which  it  would  defy  an 
earthquake  to  rend.  All  was  wrapped  in  dusky  obscurity,  ex- 
cept where,  in  tlie  side-chapels,  crowns  of  tapers  were  burning 
around  the  imay-es.  One  knows  noi  which  most  to  admire,  the 
genius  which  could  conceive,  or  the  perseverance  which  could 
accomplish  such  a  work.  On  one  side  of  the  square,  the  colossal 
statue  of  the  architect,  glorious  old  Brunelleschi,  is  most  appro- 
priately placed,  looking  up  with  pride  at  his  performance. 

The  sunshine  and  genial  airs  of  Italy  have  gone,  leaving  in- 
stead a  cold,  gloomy  sky  and  chilling  winds.  The  autumnal 
season  has  fairly  commenced,  and  I  suppose  I  must  bid  adieu  to 
the  brightness  which  made  me  in  love  with  the  land.  The  change 
has  been  no  less  sudden  than  unpleasant,  and  if,  as  they  say,  it 
will  continue  all  winter  with  little  variation,  I  shall  have  to  seek 
a  clearer  climate.  In  the  cold  of  these  European  winters,  there 
is,  as  I  observed  last  year  in  Germany,  a  dull,  damp  chill,  quite 
different  from  the  bracing,  exhilarating  frosts  of  America.  It 
stagnates  the  vital  principle  and  leaves  the  limbs  dull  and  heavy, 
with  a  lifeless  feeling  which  can  scarcely  be  overcome  by  vigor- 
ous action.     At  least,  such  has  been  my  experience. 

We  lately  made  an  excursion  to  Pratolino,  on  the  Appenines, 
to  see  the  vintage  and  the  celebrated  colossus,  by  John  of  Bologna. 
Leaving  Florence  in  the  morning,  with  a  cool,  fresh  wind  blow- 
ing down  from  the  mountains,  we  began  ascending  by  the  road 
to  Bologna.  We  passed  Fiesole  with  its  tower  and  acropolis  on 
the  right,  ascending  slowly,  with  the  bold  peak  of  one  of  the  lof- 
tiest Appenines  on  our  left.  The  abundant  fruit  of  the  olive  was 
beginning  to  turn  brown,  and  the  grapes  were  all  gathered  in 
from  the  vineyards,  but  we  learned  from  a  peasant-boy  that  the 
vintage  was  not  finished  at  Pratolino. 

We  finally  arrived  at  an  avenue  shaded  with  sycamores,  lead- 
ing to  the  royal  park.  The  vintagers  were  busy  in  the  fields 
around,  unloading  the  vines  of  their  purple  tribute,  and  many  a 
laugh  and  jest  among  the  merry  peasants  enlivened  the  toil.  We 
assisted  them  in  disposing  of  some  fine  clusters,  and  then  sought 
the  "  Colossus  of  the  Appenines."     He  stands  above  a  little  lake, 


286  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


at  the  head  of  a  long  mountain-slope,  broken  with  clumps  of  mag- 
nificent trees.  This  remarkable  figure,  the  work  of  John  of  Bo- 
logna, impresses  one  like  a  relic  of  the  Titans.  He  is  represent- 
ed as  half-kneeling,  supporting  himself  with  one  hand,  while  the 
other  is  pressed  upon  the  head  of  a  dolphin,  from  which  a  little 
stream  falls  into  the  lake.  The  height  of  the  figure  when  erect, 
would  amount  to  more  than  sixty  feet!  Weiineasured  one  of  the 
feet,  which  is  a  single  piece  of  rock,  about  eight  feet  long;  from 
the  ground  to  the  top  of  one  knee  is  nearly  twenty  feet.  The 
limbs  are  formed  of  pieces  of  stone,  joined  together,  and  the  body 
of  stone  and  brick.  His  rough  hair  and  eyebrows,  and  the  beard, 
which  reached  nearly  to  the  ground,  are  formed  of  stalactites, 
taken  from  caves,  and  fastened  together  in  a  dripping  and  crusted 
mass.  These  hung  also  from  his  limbs  and  body,  and  gave  him 
the  appearance  of  Winter  in  his  mail  of  icicles.  By  climbing 
up  the  rocks  at  his  back,  we  entered  his  body,  which  contains  a 
small-sized  room  ;  it  v/as  even  possible  to  ascend  through  his 
neck  and  look  out  at  his  ear  !  The  face  is  in  keeping  with  the 
figure — stern  and  grand,  and  the  architect  (one  can  hardly  say 
sculptor)  iuis  given  to  it  the  majestic  air  and  sublimity  of  the  Ap- 
penines.     But  who  can  build  up  mi  image  of  the  Alp? 

We  visited  the  factory  on  the  estate,  where  wine  and  oil  are 
made.  The  men  had  just  brought  in  a  cart-load  of  large  wooden 
vessels,  filled  with  grapes,  which  they  were  mashing  with  heavy 
wooden  pestles.  When  the  grapes  were  pretty  well  reduced  to 
pulp  and  juice,  they  emptied  them  into  an  enormous  tun,  which 
they  told  us  would  be  covered  air-tight,  and  left  for  three  or  four 
weeks,  after  which  the  wine  would  be  drawn  ofT  at  the  bottom. 
They  showed  us  also  a  great  stone  mill  for  grinding  olives  ;  this 
estate  of  the  Grand  Duke  produces  five  hundred  barrels  of  wine 
and  a  hundred  and  fifty  of  oil,  every  year.  The  former  article  is 
the  universal  beverage  of  the  laboring  classes  in  Italy,  or  I  might 
say  of  all  classes  ;  it  is,  however,  the  pure  blood  of  the  grape,  and 
although  used  in  such  quantities,  one  sees  little  drunkenness — 
far  less  than  in  our  own  land. 

Tuscany  enjoys  at  present  a  more  liberal  government  than  any 
other  pait  of  Italy,  and  the  people  are,  in  many  respects,  pros- 
perous and  happy.     The  Grand  Duke,  although  enjoying  almost 


MORALITY   OF  ITALY.  287 

absolute  privileges,  is  disposed  to  encourage  every  measure  which 
may  promote  the  welfare  of  his  subjects.  The  people  are,  in- 
deed, very  heavily  taxed,  but  this  is  less  severely  felt  by  them, 
than  it  would  be  by  the  inhabitants  of  colder  climes.  The  soil 
produces  with  little  labor  all  that  is  necessary  for  their  support ; 
though  kept  constanih^  in  a  state  of  comparative  poverty,  they 
appear  satisfied  with  their  lot.  and  rarely  look  further  than  the 
necessities  of  the  present.  In  love  with  the  delightful  climate, 
they  cherish  their  country,  fallen  as  she  is,  and  are  rarely  in- 
duced to  leave  her.  Even  the  wealthier  classes  of  the  Italians 
travel  very  little  ;  they  can  learn  the  manners  and  habits  of 
foreigners  nearly  as  well  in  their  own  country  as  elsewhere,  and 
they  prefer  their  own  hills  of  olive  and  vine  to  the  icy  grandeur 
of  the  Alps  or  the  rich  and  garden-like  beauty  of  England. 

But,  although  this  sweet  climate,  with  its  wealth  of  sunlight 
and  balmy  airs,  may  enchant  the  traveler  for  awhile  and  make 
him  wish  at  times  that  his  whole  life  might  be  spent  amid  such 
scenes,  it  exercises  a  most  enervating'  influence  on  those  who  are 
born  to  its  enjoyment.  It  relaxes  mental  and  physical  energy, 
and  disposes  body  and  mind  to  dreamy  inactivity.  The  Italians, 
as  a  race,  are  indolent  and  effeminate.  Of  the  moral  dignity  of 
man  they  have  little  conception.  Those  classes  who  are  en- 
gaged in  active  occupation  seem  even  destitute  of  common  hon- 
esty, practising  all  kinds  of  deceits  in  the  most  open  manner  and 
apparently  without  the  least  shame.  The  state  of  morals  is  low- 
er than  in  any  other  country  of  Europe  ;  what  little  virtue  exists 
is  found  among  the  peasants.  Many  of  the  most  sacred  obliga- 
tions of  society  are  universally  violated,  and  as  a  natural  conse- 
quence, the  people  are  almost  entire  strangers  to  that  domestic 
happiness,  which  constitutes  the  true  enjoyment  of  life. 

This  dark  shadow  in  the  moral  atmosphere  of  Italy  hangs  like 
u  curse  on  her  beautiful  soil,  weakening  the  sympathies  of  citi- 
zens of  freer  lands  with  her  fallen  condition.  I  often  feel  vividly 
the  sentiment  which  Percival  puts  into  the  mouth  of  a  Greek  in 
slavery  : 

"  The  spring  may  here  with  autumn  twine 
And  both  combined  may  rule  the  year. 


288  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


And  fresh-blown  flowers  and  racy  wine 

In  frosted  clusters  still  be  near — 
Dearer  the  wild  and  snowy  hills 
Where  hale  and  ruddy  Freedom  smiles." 

No  people  can  ever  become  truly  great  or  free,  who  are  no 
virtuous.  If  the  soul  aspires  for  liberty — pure  and  perfect  lib- 
erty— it  also  aspires  for  everything  that  is  noble  in  Truth,  every, 
thing  that  is  holy  in  Virtue.  It  is  greatly  to  be  feared  that  all 
those  nervous  and  impatient  efforts  which  have  been  made  and 
are  still  being  made  by  the  Italian  people  to  better  their  condi- 
tion, will  be  of  little  avail,  until  they  set  up  a  better  standard  of 
principle  and  make  their  private  actions  more  conformable  with 
their  ideas  of  political  independence. 

Oct.  22. — I  attended  to-day  the  fall  races  at  the  Cascine.  This 
is  a  dairy  farm  of  the  Grand  Duke  on  the  Arno,  below  the  city  ; 
part  of  it,  shaded  with  magnificent  trees,  has  been  made  into  a  pub- 
lic promenade  and  drive,  which  extends  for  three  miles  down  the 
river.  Towards  the  lower  end,  on  a  smooth  green  lawn,  is  the 
race-course.  To-day  was  the  last  of  the  season,  for  which  the 
best  trials  had  been  reserved ;  on  passing  out  the  gate  at  noon,  we 
found  a  number  of  carriages  and  pedestrians  going  the  same  way. 
It  was  the  very  perfection  of  autumn  temperature,  and  I  do  not 
remember  to  have  ever  seen  so  blue  hills,  so  green  meadows,  so 
fresh  air  and  so  bright  sunshine  combined  in  one  scene  before. 
All  that  gloom  and  coldness  of  which  I  lately  complained  has 
vanished. 

Traveling  increases  very  much  one's  capacity  for  admiration. 
Every  beautiful  scene  appears  as  beautiful  as  if  it  had  been  the 
first;  and  although  I  may  have  seen  a  hundred  times  as  lovely 
a  combination  of  sky  and  landscape,  the  pleasure  which  it  awa- 
kens is  never  diminished.  This  is  one  of  the  greatest  blessings 
we  enjoy — the  freshness  and  glory  which  Nature  wears  to  our 
eyes  forever.  It  shows  that  the  soul  never  grows  old — that  the 
eye  of  age  can  take  in  the  impression  of  beauty  with  the  same 
enthusiastic  joy  that  leaped  through  the  heart  of  childhood. 

We  found  the  crowd  around  the  race-course  but  thin  ;  half  the 
people  there,  and  all  the  horses,  appeared  to  be  English.  It  was 
a  good  place  to  observe  the  beauty  of  Florence,  which  however, 


THE   FLORENTINE  RACES.  289 

may  be  done  in  a  short  time,  as  there  is  not  much  of  it.  There  is 
beauty  in  Ilaly,  undoubtedly,  but  it  is  either  among  the  peasants 
or  the  higher  class  of  nobility.  1  will  tell  our  American  women 
confidentially,  for  I  know  they  have  too  much  sense  to  be  vain  of 
it,  that  they  surpass  the  rest  of  the  world  as  much  in  beauty  as 
they  do  in  intelligence  and  virtue.  I  saw  in  one  of  the  carriages 
the  wife  of  Alexander  Dumas,  the  French  author.  She  is  a  large, 
fair  complexioned  woman,  and  is  now,  from  what  cause  I  know 
not,  living  apart  from  her  husband. 

The  jockeys  paced  up  and  down  the  fields,  preparing  their 
beautiful  animals  for  the  approaching  heat,  and  as  the  hour  drew 
nigh  the  mounted  dragoons  busied  themselves  in  clearing  the 
space.  It  was  a  one-mile  course,  to  the  end  of  the  lawn  and  back. 
At  last  the  bugle  sounded,  and  off  went  three  steeds  like  arrows 
let  fiy.  They  passed  us,  their  light  limbs  bounding  over  the 
turf,  a  beautiful  dark-brown  taking  the  lead.  We  leaned  over 
:he  railing  and  watched  them  eagerly.  The  bell  rang — they 
reached  the  other  end — we  saw  them  turn  and  come  dashing  back, 
nearer,  nearer ;  the  crowd  began  to  shout,  and  in  a  few  seconds 
the  brown  one  had  won  it  by  four  or  five  lengths.  The  fortunate 
horse  was  led  around  in  triumph,  and  I  saw  an  English  lady,  re- 
markable for  her  betting  propensities,  come  out  from  the  crowd 
and  kiss  it  in  apparent  delight. 

After  an  interval,  three  others  took  the  field — all  graceful,  spir- 
ited creatures.  This  was  a  more  excitinir  race  than  the  first: 
they  flew  past  us  nearly  abreast,  and  the  crowd  looked  after  them 
in  anxiety.  They  cleared  the  course  like  wild  deer,  and  in  a 
minute  or  two  came  back,  the  racer  of  an  English  nobleman  a 
short  distance  ahead.  The  jockey  threw  up  his  hand  in  token 
of  triumph  as  he  approached  the  goal,  and  the  people  cheered 
him.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  those  noble  animals  stretch- 
ing to  the  utmost  of  their  speed,  as  they  dashed  down  the  grassy 
lawn.  The  lucky  one  always  showed  by  his  proud  and  erect 
carriage,  his  consciousness  of  success. 

Florence  is  fast  becoming  modernized.  The  introduction  of 
gas,  and  the  construction  of  the  railroad  to  Pisa,  which  is  nearly 
completed,  will  make  sad  havoc  with  the  air  of  poetry  which  still 
lingers  in  its  silent  streets.      There  is  scarcely  a  bridge,  a  tower, 

14 


290  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


or  a  street,  which  is  not  connected  with  some  stirring  association. 
In  the  Via  San  Felice.  Raphael  used  to  paint  when  a  boy  ;  near 
the  Ponte  Santa  Trinita  stands  Michael  Angelo's  house,  with  his 
pictures,  clothes,  and  painting  implements,  just  as  he  left  it  three 
centuries  ago;  on  the  south  side  of  the  Arno  is  the  house  of 
Galileo,  and  that  of  Machiavelli  stands  in  an  avenue  near  the 
Ducal  Palace.  While  threading  my  way  through  some  dark, 
crooked  streets  in  an  unfrequented  part  of  the  city,  I  noticed  an 
old,  untenanted  house,  bearing  a  marble  tablet  above  the  door. 
I  drew  near  and  read  : — "  In  this  house  of  the  Alio-hieri  was  born 
the  Divine  Poet !"     It  was  the  birth-place  of  Dante  ! 

Nov.  1. — Yesterday  morning  we  were  apprised  of  the  safe  ar- 
rival of  a  new  scion  of  the  royal  family  in  the  world  by  the  ring- 
ing of  the  city  bells.  To-day,  to  celebrate  the  event,  the  shops 
were  closed,  and  the  people  made  a  holiday  of  it.  Merry  chimes 
pealed  out  from  every  tower,  and  discharges  of  cannon  thundered 
up  from  the  fortress.  In  the  evening  the  dome  of  the  Cathedral 
was  illuminated,  and  the  lines  of  cupola,  lantern,  and  cross  were 
traced  in  flame  on  the  dark  sky,  like  a  crown  of  burning  stars 
dropped  from  Heaven  on  the  holy  pile.  I  went  in  and  walked 
down  the  aisle,  listening  for  awhile  to  the  grand  choral,  while  the 
clustered  tapers  under  the  dome  quivered  and  trembled,,  as  if 
shaken  by  the  waves  of  music  which  burst  continually  within  its 
lofty  concave. 

A  few  days  ago  Prince  Corsini,  Prime  Minister  of  Tuscany, 
died  at  an  advanced  age.  I  saw  his  body  brought  in  solemn  pro- 
cession by  night,  with  torches  and  tapers,  to  the  church  of  Santa 
Trinita.  Soldiers  followed  with  reversed  arms  and  muffled 
drums,  the  band  playing  a  funeral  march.  I  forced  myself 
through  the  crowd  into  the  church,  which  was  hung  with  black 
and  gold,  and  listened  to  the  long  drawn  chanting  of  the  priests 
around  the  bier. 

We  lately  visited  the  Florentine  Museum.  Besides  the  usual 
collection  of  objects  of  natural  history,  there  is  an  anatomical 
cabinet,  very  celebrated  for  its  preparations  in  wax.  All  parts 
of  the  human  frame  are  represented  so  wonderfully  exact,  that 
students  of  medicine  pursue  their  studies  here  in  summer  witli 
the  same  facility  as  from  real  "subjects."     Every  bone,  muscle, 


AMERICANS   IN  FLORENCE.  291 

and  nerve  in  the  body  is  perfectly  counterfeited,  the  whole  form- 
ing a  collection  as  curious  as  it  is  useful.  One  chamber  is  occu- 
pied with  representations  of  the  plague  of  Rome,  Milan,  and 
Florence.  They  are  executed  with  horrible  truth  to  nature,  but 
I  regretted  afterwards  having  seen  them.  There  are  enough 
forms  of  beauty  and  delight  in  the  world  on  which  to  employ  the 
eye,  without  making  it  familiar  with  scenes  which  can  only  be 
remembered  with  a  shudder. 

We  derive  much  pleasure  from  the  society  of  the  American 
artists  who  are  now  residing  in  Florence.  At  the  houses  of 
Powers,  and  Brown,  the  painter,  we  spend  many  delightful  eve- 
nings in  the  company  of  our  gifted  countrymen.  They  are 
drawn  together  by  a  kindred,  social  feeling  as  well  as  by  their 
mutual  aims,  and  form  among  themselves  a  society  so  unrestrain- 
ed, American-like,  that  the  traveler  who  meets  them  forgets  his 
absence  for  a  time.  These  noble  representatives  of  our  country, 
all  of  whom  possess  the  true,  inborn  spirit  of  republicanism,  have 
made  the  American  name  known  and  respected  in  Florence. 
Powers,  especially,  who  is  intimate  with  many  of  the  principal 
Italian  families,  is  universally  esteemed.  The  Grand  Duke  has 
more  than  once  visited  his  studio  and  expressed  the  highest  ad- 
miration of  his  talents. 


292  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

AMERICAN    ART    IN    FLORENCE. 

1  HAVE  seen  Ibrahim  Pacha,  the  son  of  old  Mehemet  Ali,  driving 
in  his  carriage  through  the  streets.  He  is  here  on  a  visit  from 
Lucca,  where  he  has  been  spending  some  time  on  account  of  his 
health.  He  is  a  man  of  apparently  fifty  years  of  age  ;  his  coun- 
tenance wears  a  stern  and  almost  savage  look,  very  consistent 
v/ith  the  character  he  bears  and  the  political  part  he  has  played. 
He  is  rather  portly  in  person,  the  pale  olive  of  his  complexion 
contrasting  strongly  v/ith  a  beard  perfectly  white.  In  common 
with  all  his  attendants,  he  wears  the  high  red  cap,  picturesque 
blue  tunic  and  narrow  trowsers  of  the  Egyptians.  There  is 
scarcely  a  man  of  them  whose  face  with  its  wild,  oriental  beauty, 
does  not  show  to  advantage  among  us  civilized  and  prosaic 
Christians. 

In  Florence,  and  indeed  through  all  Italy,  there  is  much  rea- 
son for  our  country  to  be  proud  of  the  high  stand  her  artists  are 
taking.  The  sons  of  our  rude  v.estern  clime,  brought  up  without 
other  resources  than  their  own  genius  and  energy,  now  fairly 
rival  those,  who  from  their  cradle  upwards  have  drawn  inspira- 
tion and  ambition  from  the  glorious  masterpiecesof  the  old  painters 
and  sculptors.  Wherever  our  artists  are  known,  they  never  fail 
to  create  a  respect  for  American  talent,  and  to  dissipate  the  false 
notions  respecting  our  cultivation  and  refinement,  which  prevail 
in  Europe.  There  are  novv  eight  6r  ten  of  our  painters  and 
sculptors  in  Florence,  some  of  whom,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say, 
take  the  very  first  rank  among  living  artists. 

I  have  been  highly  gratified  in  visiting  the  studio  of  Mr.  G.  L. 
Brown,  who,  as  a  landscape  painter,  is  destined  to  take  a  stand 
second  to  ^ew,  since  the  days  of  Claude  Lorraine.  He  is  now 
without  a  rival  in  Florence,  or  perhaps  in  Italy,  and  has  youth 


BROWN  AND  KELLOGG.  293 

genius  and  a  plentiful  stock  of  the  true  poetic  enthusiasm  for  his 
art,  to  work  for  him  far  greater  triumphs.  His  Italian  landscapes 
have  that  golden  mellowness  and  transparency  of  atmos|  here 
which  give  such  a  charm  to  the  real  scenes,  and  one  would  think 
he  used  on  his  pallette,  in  addition  to  the  more  substantial  colors, 
condensed  air  and  sunlight  and  the  liquid  crystal  of  streams.  He 
has  wooed  Nature  like  a  lover,  and  she  has  not  withheld  her 
sympathy.  She  has  taught  him  how  to  raise  and  curve  her  trees, 
load  their  boughs  with  foliage,  and  spread  underneath  them  the 
broad,  cool  shadows — to  pile  up  the  shattered  crag,  and  steep  the 
long  mountain  range  in  the  haze  of  alluring  distance. 

He  has  now  nearly  finished,  a  large  painting  of  "  Christ  Preach- 
ing in  the  Wilderness,"  which  is  of  surprising  beauty.  You  look 
upon  one  of  the  fairest  scenes  of  Judea.  In  front,  the  rude  mul- 
titude are  grouped  on  one  side,  in  the  edge  of  a  magnificent  forest ; 
on  the  other  side,  towers  up  a  rough  wall  of  rock  and  foliage  that 
stretches  back  into  the  distance,  where  some  grand  blue  moun- 
tains are  piled  against  the  sky,  and  a  beautiful  stream,  winding 
through  the  middle  of  the  picture,  slides  away  out  of  the  fore- 
ground. Just  emerging  from  the  shade  of  one  of  the  cliffs,  is  the 
benign  figure  of  the  Saviour,  with  the  warm  light  which  breaks 
from  behind  the  trees,  falling  around  him  as  he  advances.  There 
is  a  smaller  picture  of  the  "  Shipwreck  of  St.  Paul,"  in  which  he 
shows  equal  skill  in  painting  a  troubled  sea  and  breaking  storm. 
He  is  one  of  the  young  artists  from  whom  we  have  most  to  hope. 

I  have  been  extremely  interested  in  looking  over  a  great  num- 
ber of  sketches  made  by  Mr.  Kellogg,  of  Cincinnati,  during  a  tour 
through  Eorypt,  Arabia  Petrsea  and  Palestine.  He  visited  many 
places  out  of  the  general  route  of  travelers,  and  beside  the  great 
number  of  landscape  views,  brought  away  many  sketches  of  the 
characters  and  costumes  of  the  Orient.  From  some  of  these  he 
has  commenced  paintings,  which,  as  his  genius  is  equal  to  his 
practice,  will  be  of  no  ordinary  value.  Indeed,  some  of  these 
must  give  him  at  once  an  established  reputation  in  America.  In 
Constantinople,  where  he  resided  several  months,  he  enjoyed  pe- 
culiar advantges  for  the  exercise  of  his  art,  through  the  favor 
and  influence  of  Mr.  Carr,  the  American,  and  Sir  Stratford  Can- 
ning, the  British  Minister.      I  saw  a  splendid  diamond  cup,  pre- 


294  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


sented  to  him  by  Riza  Pacha,  the  late  Grand  Vizier.  The 
sketches  he  brought  from  thence  and  from  the  valleys  of  Phrygia 
and  the  mountain  solitudes  of  old  Olympus,  are  of  great  interest 
and  value.  Among  his  later  paintings,  I  might  mention  an  angel, 
whose  countenance  beams  with  a  rapt  and  glorious  beauty.  A 
divine  lio-ht  shines  through  all  the  features  and  heicrhtens  the  sflovv 
of  adoration  to  an  expression  all' spiritual  and  immortal.  If  Mr. 
Kellogg  will  give  us  a  few  more  of  these  heavenly  conceptions, 
we  will  place  him  on  a  pedestal,  little  lower  than  that  of  Guido. 

Greenough,  who  has  been  sometime  in  Germany,  returned 
lately  to  Florence,  where  he  has  a  colossal  group  in  progress  for 
the  portico  of  the  Capitol.  I  have  seen  part  of  it,  which  is  nearly 
finished  in  the  marble.  It  shows  a  backwoodsman  just  triumph- 
ing in  the  struggle  with  an  Indian  ;  another  group  to  be  added, 
will  represent  the  wife  and  child  of  the  former.  The  colos^^al 
size  of  the  statues  gives  a  grandeur  to  the  action,  as  if  it  were  a 
combat  of  Titans ;  there  is  a  consciousness  of  power,  an  expres- 
sion of  lofty  disdain  in  the  expansion  of  the  hunter's  nostril  and 
the  proud  curve  of  his  lip,  that  might  become  a  god.  The  spirit 
of  action,  of  breathing,  life-like  exertion,  so  much  more  difficult 
to  infuse  into  the  marble  than  that  of  repose,  is  perfectly  attained. 
I  will  not  enter  into  a  more  particular  description,  as  it  will  pro- 
bably be  sent  to  the  United  States  in  a  year  or  two.  It  is  a  mag- 
nificent work  ;  the  best,  unquestionably,  that  Greenough  has  yet 
made.  The  subject,  and  the  grandeur  he  has  given  it  in  the  ex- 
ecution, will  ensure  it  a  much  more  favorable  reception  than  a 
false  taste  gave  to  his  Washington. 

Mr.  C.  B.  Ives,  a  young  sculptor  from  Connecticut,  has  not 
disappointed  the  high  promise  he  gave  before  leaving  home.  I 
was  struck  with  some  of  his  busts  in  Philadelphia,  particularly 
those  of  Mrs.  Sigourney  and  Joseph  R.  Chandler,  and  it  has 
been  no  common  pleasure  to  visit  his  studio  here  in  Florence, 
and  look  on  some  of  his  ideal  works.  He  has  lately  made  two 
models,  which,  when  finished  in  marble,  will  be  works  of  great 
beauty.  They  will  contribute  greatly  to  his  reputation  here  and 
in  America.  One  of  these  represents  a  child  of  four  or  five 
years  of  age,  holding  in  his  hand  a  dead  bird,  on  which  he  is 
gazing,  with  childish  grief  and  wonder,  that  it  is  so  still  and  droop- 


AMERICAN   SCULPTORS.     .  295 

ing.  It  is  a  beautiful  thought ;  the  boy  is  leaning  forward  as  he 
sits,  holding  the  lifeless  playmate  close  in  his  hands,  his  sadness 
touched  with  a  vague  expression,  as  if  he  could  not  yet  compre- 
hend the  idea  of  death. 

The  other  is  of  equal  excellence,  in  a  different  style ;  it  is 
a  bust  of  "  Jephthah's  daughter,"  when  the  consciousness  of  her 
doom  first  flashes  upon  her.  The  face  and  bust  are  beautiful 
with  the  bloom  of  perfect  girlhood.  A  simple  robe  covers  her 
breast,  and  her  rich  hair  is  gathered  up  behind,  and  bound  with 
a  slender  fillet  Her  head,  of  the  pure  classical  mould,  is  bent 
forward,  as  if  weighed  down  by  the  shock,  and  there  is  a  heavy 
drooping  in  the  mouth  and  eyelids,  that  denotes  a  sudden  and 
sickening  agony.  It  is  not  a  violent,  passionate  grief,  but  a  deep 
and  almost  paralyzing  emotion — a  shock  from  which  the  soul  will 
finally  rebound,  strengthened  to  make  the  sacrifice. 

Would  it  not  be  better  for  some  scores  of  our  rich  merchants 
to  lay  out  their  money  on  statues  and  pictures,  instead  of  balls 
and  spendthrift  sons  ?  A  few  such  expenditures,  properly  direct- 
ed, would  do  much  for  the  advancement  of  the  fine  arts.  An 
occasional  golden  blessing,  bestowed  on  genius,  might  be  returned 
on  the  giver,  in  the  fame  he  had  assisted  in  creating.  There 
seems,  however,  to  be  at  present  a  rapid  increase  in  refined  taste, 
and  a  better  appreciation  of  artistic  talent,  in  our  country.  And 
as  an  American,  nothing  has  made  me  feel  prouder  than  this,  and 
the  steadily  increasing  reputation  of  our  artists. 

Of  these,  no  one  has  done  more  within  tlie  last  few  years,  than 
Powers.  With  a  tireless  and  persevering  energy,  such  as  could 
have  belonged  to  few  but  Americans,  he  has  already  gained  a 
riame  in  his  art,  that  posterity  will  pronounce  in  the  same  breath 
vith  Phidias,  Michael  Angelo  and  Thorwaldsen.  I  cannot  de- 
scribe the  enjoyment  I  have  derived  from  looking  at  his  matchless 
works.  I  should  hesitate  in  giving  my  own  imperfect  judgmen 
of  their  excellence,  if  I  had  not  found  it  to  coincide  with  tha, 
of  many  others  who  are  better  versed  in  the  rules  of  art.  The 
sensation  which  his  "  Greek  Slave''  produced  in  England,  has 
doubtless  ere  this  been  breezed  across  the  Atlantic,  and  I  see  by 
the  late  American  papers  that  they  are  growing  familiar  with  his 
fame.     When  I  read   a  notice  seven  or  eight  years  ago,  of  the 


96  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


youno-  sculptor  of  Cincinnati,  whose  busts  exhibited  so  much  evi- 
dence of  genius,  I  little  dreamed  I  should  meet  him  in  Florence, 
with  the  experience  of  years  of  toil  added  to  his  early  enthusiasm, 
and  every  day  increasing  his  renown. 

You  would  like  to  hear  of  his  statue  of  Eve,  which  men  of  taste 
pronounce  one  of  the  finest  works  of  modern  times.  A  more  per- 
fect figure  never  filled  my  eye.  1  have  seen  the  masterpieces 
of  Thorwaldsen,  Dannecker  and  Canova,  and  the  Venus  de  Med- 
ici, but  I  have  seen  nothing  yet  that  can  exceed  the  beauty  of  this 
glorious  statue.  So  completely  did  the  first  view  excite  my  sur- 
prise and  delight,  and  thrill  every  feeling  that  awakes  at  the  sight 
of  the  Beautiful,  that  my  mind  dwelt  intensely  on  it  for  days 
afterwards.  This  is  the  Eve  of  Scripture — the  Eve  of  Milton — 
mother  of  mankind  and  fairest  of  all  her  race.  With  the  full 
and  majestic  beauty  of  ripened  womanhood,  she  wears  the  purity 
of  a  world  as  yet  unknown  to  sin.  With  the  bearing  of  a  queen, 
there  is  in  her  countenance  the  softness  and  grace  of  a  tender, 
loving  woman ; 

"  God-like  erect,  with  native  honor  clad 
In  naked  majesty," 

She  holds  the  fatal  fruit  extended  in  her  hand,  and  her  face  ex- 
presses the  struggle  between  conscience,  dread  and  desire.  The 
serpent,  whose  coiled  length  under  the  leaves  and  flowers  entirely 
surrounds  her,  thus  forming  a  beautiful  allegorical  symbol,  is 
watching  her  decision  from  an  ivied  trunk  at  her  side.  Her 
form  is  said  to  be  fully  as  perfect  as  the  Venus  de  Medici,  and 
from  its  greater  size,  has  an  air  of  conscious  and  ennobling  dig- 
nity. The  head  is  far  superior  in  beauty,  and  soul  speaks  from 
every  feature  of  the  countenance.  I  add  a  few  stanzas  which 
the  contemplation  of  this  statue  called  forth.  Though  unworthy 
the  subject,  they  may  perhaps  faintly  shadow  the  sentiment  which 
Powers  has  so  eloquently  embodied  in  marble  : 

THE   "EVE"   OF  POWERS. 

A  faultless  being  from  the  marble  sprung, 

She  stands  in  beauty  there ! 
As  when  the  grace  of  Eden  'round  her  clung — 

Fairest  v^here  all  was  fair  ! 


POWERS'   "EVE."  297 


I 


Pure,  as  when  first  from  God's  creating  hand 

She  came,  on  man  to  shine  : 
So  seems  she  now,  in  living  stone  to  stand — 

A  mortal,  yet  divine  I 

The  spark  the  Grecian  from  Olympus  caught, 

Left  not  a  loftier  trace ; 
The  daring  of  the  sculptor's  hand  has  wrought 

A  soul  in  that  sweet  face ! 
He  won  as  well  the  sacred  fire  from  heaven, 

God-sent,  not  stolen  down, 
And  no  Promethean  doom  for  him  is  given, 

But  ages  of  renown  ! 

The  soul  of  beauty  breathes  around  that  form 

A  more  enchanting  spell ; 
There  blooms  each  virgin  grace,  ere  yet  the  storm 

On  blighted  Eden  fell ! 
The  first  desire  upon  her  lovely  brow, 

Raised  by  an  evil  power ; 
Doubt,  longing,  dread,  are  in  her  features  now — 

It  is  the  trial-hour ! 

How  every  thought  that  strives  within  her  breast, 

In  that  one  glance  is  shown ! 
Say,  can  that  heart  of  marble  be  at  rest, 

Since  spirit  warms  the  stone  ? 
Will  not  those  limbs,  of  so  divine  a  mould, 

Move,  when  her  thought  is  o"er — 
When  she  has  yielded  to  the  tempter's  hold 

And  Eden  blooms  no  more  ? 

Art,  like  a  Phoenix,  springs  from  dust  again — 

She  cannot  pass  away  ! 
Bound  down  in  gloom,  she  breaks  apart  the  chain 

And  struggles  up  to  day ! 
The  flame,  first  kindled  in  the  ages  gone, 

Has  never  ceased  to  burn, 
And  westward^  now,  appears  the  kindling  dawn, 

Which  marks  the  day's  return  ! 

The  "  Greek  Slave"  is  now  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Grant,  of 
London,  and  I  only  saw  the  clay  model.  Like  the  Eve,  it  is  a 
form  that  one's  eye  tells  him  is  perfect,  unsurpassed  ;  but  it  is 
the  budding  loveliness  of  a  girl,  instead  of  the  perfected  beauty 
of  a  woman.     In  England  it  has  been  pronounced  superior  to 

Id* 


•298  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Canova's  works,  and  indeed  I  have  seen  nothing  of  his,  that  could 
be  placed  beside  it. 

Powers  has  now  nearly  finished  a  most  exquisite  figure  of  a 
fisher-boy,  standing  on  the  shore,  with  his  net  and  rudder  in  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  he  holds  a  shell  to  his  ear  and  listens 
if  it  murmur  to  him  of  a  gathering  storm.  His  slight,  boyish 
limbs  are  full  of  grace  and  delicacy — you  feel  that  the  youthful 
frame  could  grow  up  into  nothing  less  than  an  Apollo.  Then 
the  head — how  beautiful  !  Slightly  bent  on  one  side,  with  the 
rim  of  the  shell  thrust  under  his  locks,  lips  gently  parted,  and  the 
face  wrought  up  to  the  most  hushed  and  breathless  expression,  he 
listens  whether  the  sound  be  deeper  than  its  wont.  It  makes  you 
hold  your  breath  and  listen,  to  look  at  it.  Mrs.  Jameson  some- 
where remarks  that  repose  or  suspended  motion,  should  be  al- 
ways chosen  for  a  statue  that  shall  present  a  perfect,  unbroken 
impression  to  the  mind.  If  tliis  be  true,  the  enjoyment  must  be 
much  more  complete  where  not  only  the  motion,  but  almost 
breath  and  thought  are  suspended,  and  all  the  faculties  wrought 
into  one  hushed  and  intense  sensation.  In  gazing  on  this  exqui- 
site conception.  I  feel  my  admiration  filled  to  the  utmost,  without 
that  painful,  aching  impression,  so  often  left  by  beautiful  works. 
It  glides  into  my  vision  like  a  form  long  missed  from  the  gallery 
of  beauty  I  am  forming  in  my  mind,  and  I  gaze  on  it  with  an 
ever  new  and  increasing  delight. 

Now  I  come  to  the  last  and  fairest  of  all — the  divine  Proser- 
pine. Not  the  form,  for  it  is  but  a  bust  rising  from  a  capital  of 
acanthus  leaves,  which  curve  around  the  breast  and  arms  and 
turn  gracefully  outward,  but  the  face,  whose  modest  maiden 
beauty  can  find  no  peer  among  goddesses  or  mortals.  So  looked 
she  on  the  field  of  Ennce — that  "  fairer  flower,"  so  soon  to  be 
gathered  by  "gloomy  Dis."  A  slender  crown  of  green  wheat- 
blades,  showing  alike  her  descent  from  Ceres  and  her  virgin 
years,  circles  her  head.  Truly,  if  Pygmalion  stole  his  fire  to 
warm  such  a  form  as  this,  Jove  should  have  pardoned  him.  Of 
Powers'  busts  it  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  speak.  He  has  lately 
finished  a  very  beautiful  one  of  the  Princess  Demidoff*,  daughter 
of  Jerome  Bonaparte. 

We  will  soon,  I  hope,  have  the  "Eve"  in  America.     Powers 


POWERS.  299 


has  generously  refused  many  advantageous  offers  for  it,  that  he 
might  finally  send  it  home  ;  and  his  country,  therefore,  will  pos- 
sess this  statue,  his  first  ideal  work.  She  may  well  be  proud 
of  the  genius  and  native  energy  of  her  young  artist,  and  she 
should  repay  them  by  a  just  and  liberal  encouragement. 


300  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER   XXX  VIII. 

AN    ADVENTURE    ON    THE    GREAT    ST.     BERNARD WALKS    ATIOUNO 

FLORENCE. 

JS'ov.  9. — A  few  days  ago  I  received  a  letter  from  my  cousin 
at  Heidelberg,  describing  his  solitary  walk  from  Genoa  over  the 
Alps,  and  through  the  western  part  of  Switzerland.  The  news  of 
his  safe  arrival  dissipated  the  anxiety  we  were  beginning  to  feel, 
on  account  of  his  long  silence,  while  it  proved  that  our  fears  con- 
cerning the  danger  of  such  a  journey  were  not  altogether  ground- 
less. He  met  with  a  startling  adventure  on  the  Great  St.  Bernard, 
which  will  be  best  described  by  an  extract  from  his  own  letter  : 

*  *  *  "  Such  were  my  impressions  of 

Rome.  But  leaving  the  '  Eternal  City,'  I  must  hasten  on  to  give 
you  a  description  of  an  adventure  I  met  with  in  crossing  the  Alps, 
omitting  for  the  present  an  account  of  the  trip  from  Rome  to  Ge- 
noa, and  my  lonely  walk  through  Sardinia.  When  I  had  crossed 
the  mountain  range  north  of  Genoa,  the  plains  of  Piedmont 
stretched  out  before  me.  I  could  see  the  snowy  sides  and  sum- 
mits of  the  Alps  more  than  one  hundred  miles  distant,  looking 
like  white,  fleecy  clouds  on  a  summer  day.  It  was  a  magnificent 
prospect,  and  I  wonder  not  that  the  heart  of  the  Swiss  soldier, 
after  years  of  absence  in  foreign  service,  beats  with  joy  when  he 
again  looks  on  his  native  mountains. 

"  As  I  approached  nearer,  the  weather  changed,  and  dark, 
gloomy  clouds  enveloped  them,  so  that  they  seemed  to  present  an 
impassible  barrier  to  the  lands  beyond  them.  At  Ivrea,  I  en- 
tered the  interesting  valley  of  Aosta.  The  whole  valley,  fifty 
miles  in  length,  is  inhabited  by  miserable  looking  people,  nearly 
one  half  of  them  being  afflicted  with  goitre  and  cretinism.  They 
looked  more  idiotic  and  disgusting  than  any  I  have  ever  seen,  and 
it  was  really  painful  to  behold  such  miserable  specimens  of  hu- 


ASCENT   OF   ST.  BERNARD.  301 

manily  dwelling  amid  the  grandest  scenes  of  nature.  Immedi- 
ately after  arriving  in  the  town  of  Aosta,  situated  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  valley,  I  began,  alone,  the  ascent  of  the  Great  St. 
Bernard.  It  was  just  noon,  and  the  clouds  on  the  mountains  in- 
dicated rain.  The  distance  from  Aosta  to  the  monastery  or  hos- 
pice of  St.  Bernard,  is  about  twenty  English  miles. 

"At  one  o'clock  it  commenced  raining  very  hard,  and  to  gain 
shelter  I  went  into  a  rude  hut ;  but  it  was  filled  with  so  many  of 
those  idiotic  cretins,  lying  down  on  the  earthy  floor  with  the  dogs 
and  other  animals,  that  1  was  glad  to  leave  them  as  soon  as  the 
storm  had  abated  in  some  degree.  I  walked  rapidly  for  three 
hours,  when  I  met  a  traveler  and  his  guide  descending  the  moun- 
tain. I  asked  him  in  Italian  the  distance  to  the  hospice,  and  he 
undertook  to  answer  me  in  French,  but  the  words  did  not  seem  to 
flow  very  fluently,  so  I  said  quickly,  observing  then  that  he  was  an 
Englishman  :  '  Try  some  other  language,  if  you  please,  sir  !'  He 
replied  instantly  in  his  vernacular:  'You  have  a  d — d  long  walk 
before  you,  and  you'll  have  to  hurry  to  get  to  the  top  before  night !' 
Thanking  him,  we  shook  hands  and  hurried  on,  he  downward  and 
I  upward.  About  eight  miles  from  the  summit,  I  was  directed 
into  the  wrong  path  by  an  ignorant  boy  who  was  tending  sheep, 
and  went  a  mile  out  of  the  course,  towards  Mont  Blanc,  before  I 
discovered  my  mistake.  I  hurried  back  into  the  right  path  again, 
and  soon  overtook  another  boy  ascending  the  mountain,  who  ask- 
ed me  if  he  might  accompany  me  as  he  was  alone,  to  which  I  of 
course  answered,  yes  ;  but  when  we  began  to  enter  the  thick 
clouds  that  covered  the  mountains,  he  became  alarmed,  and  said 
he  would  go  no  farther.  I  tried  to  encourage  him  by  saying  we 
had  only  five  miles  more  to  climb,  but,  turning  quickly,  he  ran 
down  the  path  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

"  After  a  long  and  most  toilsome  ascent,  spurred  on  as  I  was  by 
the  storm  and  the  approach  of  night,  I  saw  at  last  through  the 
clouds  a  little  house,  which  I  supposed  might  be  a  part  of  the 
monastery,  but  it  turned  out  to  be  only  a  house  of  refuge,  erected 
by  the  monks  to  take  in  travelers  in  extreme  cases  or  extraordi- 
nary  danger.  The  man  who  was  staying  there,  told  me  the 
monastery  was  a  mile  and  a  half  further,  and  thinking  therefore 
that  I  could  soon  reach  it,  I  started  out  again,  although  darkness 


302  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


was  approaching.  In  a  short  time  the  storm  began  in  good  earn- 
est, and  the  cold  winds  blew  with  the  greatest  fury.  It  grew  dark 
very  suddenly  and  I  lost  sight  of  the  poles  which  are  placed  along 
the  path  to  guide  the  traveler.  I  then  ran  on  still  higher,  hoping 
to  find  them  again,  but  without  success.  The  rain  and  snow  fell 
thick,  and  although  I  think  I  am  tolerably  courageous,  I  began  to 
be  alarmed,  for  it  was  impossible  to  know  in  what  direction  I  was 
going.  I  could  hear  the  waterfalls  dashing  and  roaring  down  the 
mountain  hollows  on  each  side  of  me  ;  in  the  gloom,  the  foam 
and  leaping  waters  resembled  streaming  fires.  I  thought  of  turn- 
ing back  to  find  the  little  house  of  refuge  again,  but  it  seemed 
quite  as  dangerous  and  uncertain  as  to  go  forward.  After  the 
fatigue  I  had  undergone  since  noon,  it  would  have  been  danger- 
ous to  be  obliged  to  stay  out  all  night  in  the  driving  storm,  which 
was  every  minute  increasing  in  coldness  and  intensity. 

"  I  stopped  and  shouted  aloud,  hoping  I  might  be  somewhere 
near  the  monastery,  but  no  answer  came — no  noise  except  the 
storm  and  the  roar  of  the  waterfalls.  I  climbed  up  the  rocks 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  higher,  and  shouted  again.  I  listened 
with  anxiety  for  two  or  three  minutes,  but  hearing  no  response,  I 
concluded  to  find  a  shelter  for  the  night  under  a  ledge  of  rocks. 
While  looking  around  me,  I  fancied  I  heard  in  the  distance  a 
noise  like  the  trampling  of  hoofs  over  the  rocks,  and  thinking 
travelers  might  be  near,  I  called  aloud  for  the  third  time.  After 
waiting  a  moment,  a  voice  came  ringing  on  my  ears  through  the 
clouds,  like  one  from  Heaven  in  response  to  my  own.  My  heart 
beat  quickly  ;  I  hurried  in  the  direction  from  which  the  sound 
came,  and  to  my  joy  found  two  men — servants  of  the  monastery 
— who  were  driving  their  mules  into  shelter.  Never  in  my  whole 
life  was  I  more  glad  to  hear  the  voice  of  man.  These  men  con- 
ducted me  to  the  monastery,  one-fourth  of  a  mile  higher,  built  by 
the  side  of  a  lake  at  the  summit  of  the  pass,  while  on  each  side, 
the  mountains,  forever  covered  with  snow,  tower  some  thousands 
of  feet  higher. 

"  Two  or  three  of  the  noble  St.  Bernard  dogs  barked  a  wel- 
come as  we  approached,  which  brought  a  young  monk  to  the 
door.  I  addressed  him  in  German,  but  to  my  surprise  he  an- 
swered in  broken  English.     He  took  me  into  a  warm   room  and 


THE   MONASTERS.  303 


gave  me  a  suit  of  clothes,  such  as  are  worn  by  the  monks,  for  my 
dress,  as  well  as  my  package  of  papers,  were  completely  saturated 
«vith  rain.  I  sat  down  to  supper  in  company  with  all  the  monks 
of  the  Hospice,  I  in  my  monkish  robe  looking  like  one  of  the 
holy  order.  You  would  have  laughed  to  have  seen  me  in  their 
costume.  Indeed,  I  ferlt  almost  satisfied  to  turn  monk,  as  every- 
thing seemed  so  comfortable  in  the  warm  supper  room,  with  its 
blazing  wood  fire,  while  outside  raged  the  storm  still  more  vio- 
lently. But  when  I  thought  of  their  voluntary  banishment  from 
the  world,  up  in  that  high  pass  of  the  Alps,  and  that  the  affection 
of  woman  never  gladdened  their  hearts,  I  was  ready  to  renounce 
my  monkish  dress  next  morning,  without  reluctance. 

"  In  the  address  book  of  the  monastery,  I  found  Longfellow's 
'  Excelsior'  written  on  a  piece  of  paper  and  signed  '  America. 
You  remember  the  stanza  : 

•  At  break  of  day,  as  heavenward, 
The  pious  monks  of  St.  Bernard 
Uttered  the  oft-repeated  prayer, 
A  voice  cried  through  the  startled  air : 

Excelsior !' 

It  seemed  to  add  a  tenfold  interest  to  the  poem,  to  read  it  on   old 

St.  Bernard.     In  the  morning  I  visited  the  house  where  are  kept 

the  bodies  of  the  travelers,  who  perish  in  crossing  the  mountain. 

It  is  filled  with  corpses,  ranged  in  rows,  and  looking  like  mummies, 

for  the  cold  is  so  intense  that  they   will   keep   for  years  without 

decaying,  and  are  often  recognized  and  removed  by  their  friends. 

"  Of  my  descent  to  Martigny,  my  walk  down  the  Rhone,  and 

along  the  shores  of  Lake  Leman,  my  visit  to  the  prison  of  Chillon 

and  other  wanderings  across  Switzerland,  my  pleasure  in  seeing 

the  old  river  Rhine  again,  and  my  return  to  Heidelberg  at  night, 

with  the  bright  moon  shining  on  the  Neckar  and  the  old  ruined 

castle,  I  can  now  say  no  more,  nor  is  it  necessary,  for  are  not  all 

these  things  '  written  in  my  book  of  Chronicles,'  to  be  seen  by  you 

when  we  meet  again  in  Paris  ? 

Ever  yours,  Frank." 

Dec.  16. — I  took   a  walk  lately  to  the  tower  of  Galileo.     In 
company  with  three  friends,  I  left  Florence  by  the  Porta  Romana, 


304  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


and  ascended  the  Poggie  Imperiale.  This  beautiful  avenue,  a 
mile  and  a  quarter  in  length,  leading  up  a  gradual  ascent  to  a 
villa  of  the  Grand  Duke,  is  bordered  with  splendid  cypresses  and 
evergreen  oaks,  and  the  grass  banks  are  always  fresh  and  green, 
so  that  even  in  winter  it  calls  up  a  remembrance  of  summer.  In 
fact,  winter  does  not  wear  the  scowl  here  tJiat  he  has  at  home  ; 
he  is  robed  rather  in  a  threadbare  garment  of  autumn,  and  it  is 
only  high  up  on  the  mountain  tops,  out  of  the  reach  of  his  enemy, 
the  sun,  that  he  dares  to  throw  it  off,  and  bluster  about  with  his 
storms  and  scatter  down  his  snow-flakes.  The  roses  still  bud  and 
bloom  in  the  hedges,  the  emerald  of  the  meadows  is  not  a  whit 
paler,  the  sun  looks  down  lovingly  as  yet,  and  there  are  only  the 
white  helmets  of  some  of  the  Appenines,  with  the  leafless  mul 
berries  and  vines,  to  tell  us  that  we  have  changed  seasons. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour's  walk,  part  of  it  by  a  path  through  an 
olive  orchard,  brought  us  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  which  was  sur- 
mounted by  a  square,  broken,  ivied  tower,  forming  part  of  a  store- 
house for  the  produce  of  the  estate.  We  entered,  saluted  by  a 
dog,  and  passing  through  a  court-yard,  in  which  stood  two  or 
three  carts  full  of  brown  olives,  found  our  way  to  the  rickety 
staircase.  I  spared  my  sentiment  in  going  up,  thinking  the  steps 
might  have  been  renewed  since  Galileo's  time,  but  the  glorious 
landscape  which  opened  around  us  when  we  reached  the  top,  time 
could  not  change,  and  I  gazed  upon  it  with  interest  and  emotion, 
as  my  eye  took  in  those  forms  which  had  once  been  mirrored  in 
the  philosopher's.  Let  me  endeavor  to  describe  the  features  of 
the  scene. 

Fancy  yourself  lifted  to  the  summit  of  a  high  hill,  whose  base 
slopes  down  to  the  valley  of  the  Arno,  and  looking  northward.  Be- 
hind you  is  a  confusion  of  hill  and  valley,  growing  gradually 
dimmer  away  to  the  horizon.  Before  and  below  you  is  a  vale, 
with  Florence  and  her  great  domes  and  towers  in  its  lap,  and 
across  its  breadth  of  five  miles  the  mountain  of  Fiesole.  To  the 
west  it  stretches  away  unbroken  for  twenty  miles,  covered  thickly 
with  white  villas — like  a  meadow  of  daisies,  magnified.  A  few 
miles  to  the  east  the  plain  is  rounded  with  mountains,  between 
whose  interlocking  bases  we  can  see  the  brown  current  of  the 
Arno.     Some  of  their  peaks,  as  well  as  the  mountain  of  Vallom- 


MOONLIGHT   ON  THE  ARNO.  305 

brosa,  along  the  eastern  sky,  are  tipped  with  snow.  Imagine  tiie 
air  filled  with  a  thick  blue  mist,  like  a  semi-transparent  veil, 
which  softens  ever)'"  thing  into  dreamy  indistinctness,  the  sun- 
shine falling  slantingly  through  this  in  spots,  touching  the  land- 
scape here  and  there  as  with  a  sudden  blaze  of  fire,  and  you  will 
complete  the  picture.  Does  it  not  repay  your  mental  flight  across 
the  Atlantic. 

One  eveninfr,  on  cominnr  out  of  the  cafe,  the  moon  was  shininsc 
so  brightly  and  clearly,  that  I  involuntarily  bent  my  steps  towards 
the  river  ;  I  walked  along  the  Lung''  Arno,  enjoying  the  heavenly 
moonlight — "  the  night  of  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies  !"  A 
purer  silver  light  never  kissed  the  brow  of  Endymion.  The 
brown  Arno  took  into  his  breast  "the  redundant  glory,"  and 
rolled  down  his  pebbly  bed  with  a  more  musical  ripple ;  opposite 
stretched  the  long  mass  of  buildings — the  deep  arches  that  rose 
from  the  water  were  filled  with  black  shadow,  and  the  irregular 
fronts  of  the  houses  touched  with  a  mellow  glow.  The  arches  of 
the  upper  bridge  were  in  shadow,  cutting  their  dark  outline  on 
the  silvery  sweep  of  the  Appenines,  far  up  the  stream.  A  veil 
of  luminous  gray  covered  the  hill  of  San  Miniato,  with  its  towers 
and  cypress  groves,  and  there  was  a  crystal  depth  in  the  atmo- 
sphere, as  if  it  shone  with  its  own  light.  The  whole  scene  affect- 
ed me  as  something  too  glorious  to  be  real — painful  from  the  very 
intensity  of  its  beauty.  Three  moons  ago,  at  the  foot  of  Vallom- 
brosa,  I  saw  the  Appenines  flooded  with  the  same  silvery  gjush, 
and  thought  also,  then,  that  I  had  seen  the  same  moon  amid  far 
dearer  scenes,  but  never  before  the  same  dreamy  and  sublime 
glory  showered  down  from  her  pale  orb.  Some  solitary  lio-hts 
were  burning  along  the  river,  and  occasionally  a  few  Italians 
passed  by,  wrapped  in  their  mantles.  I  went  home  to  the  Piazza 
del  Granduca  as  the  light,  pouring  into  the  square  from  behind 
the  old  palace,  fell  over  the  fountain  of  Neptune  and  sheathed  in 
silver  the  back  of  the  colossal  god. 

Whoever  looks  on  the  valley  of  the  Arno  from  San  Miniato, 
and  observes  the  Appenine  range,  of  which  Fiesole  is  one,  bound- 
ing it  on  the  north,  will  immediately  notice  to  the  northwest  a 
double  peak  rising  high  above  all  the  others.  The  bare,  brown 
forehead  of  this,  known  by  the  name  of  Monte  Morello,  seemed  so 


306  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


provokirigly  to  challenge  an  ascent,  that  we  determined  to  try  it. 
So  we  started  early,  the  day  before  yesterday,  from  the  Porta  San 
Gallo,  with  nothing  but  the  frosty  grass  and  fresh  air  to  remind 
us  of  the  middle  of  December.  Leaving  the  Prato  road,  at  the 
base  of  the  mountain,  we  passed  Careggi,  a  favorite  farm  of  Lo- 
renzo the  Magnificent,  and  entered  a  narrow  glen  where  a  little 
brook  was  brawling  down  its  rocky  channel.  Here  and  there 
stood  a  rustic  mill,  near  which  women  were  busy  spreading  their 
washed  clothes  on  the  grass.  Following  the  footpath,  we  ascend- 
ed a  long  eminence  to  a  chapel  where  some  boys  were  amusing 
themselves  with  a  common  country  game.  They  have  a  small 
wheel,  around  which  they  wind  a  rope,  and,  running  a  little  dis- 
tance to  increase  the  velocity,  let  it  off  with  a  sudden  jerk.  On 
a  level  road  it  can  be  thrown  upwards  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

From  the  chapel,  a  gradual  ascent  along  the  ridge  of  a  hill 
brought  us  to  the  foot  of  the  peak,  which  rose  high  before  us,  cover- 
ed with  bare  rocks  and  stunted  oaks.  The  wind  blew  coldly  from 
a  snowy  range  to  the  north,  as  we  commenced  ascending  with  a 
good  will.  A  few  shepherds  were  leading  their  flocks  along  the 
sides,  to  browse  on  the  grass  and  withered  bushes,  and  we  started 
up  a  large  hare  occasionally  from  his  leafy  covert.  The  ascent 
was  very  toilsome ;  I  was  obliged  to  stop  frequently  on  account 
of  the  painful  throbbing  of  my  heart,  which  made  it  difficult  to 
breathe.  When  the  summit  was  gained,  we  lay  down  awhile  on 
the  leeward  side  to  recover  ourselves. 

We  looked  on  the  great  valley  of  the  Arno,  perhaps  twenty- 
five  miles  long,  and  five  or  six  broad,  lying  like  a  long  elliptical 
basin  sunk  among  the  hills.  I  can  liken  it  to  nothing  but  a  vast 
sea  ;  for  a  dense,  blue  mist  covered  the  level  surface,  through 
which  the  domes  of  Florence  rose  up  like  a  craggy  island,  while 
the  thousands  of  scattered  villas  resembled  ships,  with  spread  sails, 
afloat  on  its  surface.  The  sharp,  cutting  wind  soon  drove  us 
down,  with  a  few  hundred  bounds,  to  the  path  again.  Three 
more  hungry  mortals  did  not  dine  at  the  Cacciaiore  that  day. 

The  chapel  of  the  Medici,  which  we  visited,  is  of  wonderful 
beauty.  The  walls  are  entirely  encrusted  with  pietra  dura  and 
the  most  precious  kinds  of  marble.  The  ceiling  is  covered  with 
gorgeous  frescoes  by  Benevenuto,  a  modern  painter.     Around  the 


FAREWELL   TO   FLORENCE.  307 

sides,  in  magnificent  sarcophagi  of  marble  and  jasper,  repose  the 
ashes  of  a  few  Cosmos  and  Ferdinands.  I  asl^ed  the  sacristan 
for  the  tomb  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent.  "  Oh  !"  said  he,  "  he 
lived  during  the  republic — he  has  no  tomb;  these  are  only  for 
Dukes!"  I  could  not  repress  a  sigh  at  the  lavish  waste  of  labor 
an  dtreasure  on  this  one  princely  chapel.  They  might  have 
slumbered  unnoted,  like  Lorenzo,  if  they  had  done  as  much  for 
their  country  and  Italy. 

December  19. — It  is  with  a  heavy  heart,  that  I  sit  down  to- 
night to  make  my  closing  note  in  this  lovely  city  and  in  the  jour- 
nal which  has  recorded  my  thoughts  and  impressions  since  leav- 
ing America.  1  should  find  it  difficult  to  analyze  my  emotions, 
but  1  know  that  they  oppress  me  painfully.  So  much  rushes  at 
once  over  the  mind  and  heart — memories  of  what  has  passed 
through  both,  since  I  made  the  first  note  in  its  pages — alternations 
of  hope  and  anxiety  and  aspiration,  but  never  despondency — that 
it  resembles  in  a  manner,  the  closing  of  a  life.  I  seem  almost 
to  have  lived  through  the  common  term  of  a  life  in  this  short  pe- 
riod. Much  spiritual  and  mental  experience  has  crowded  into  a 
short  time  the  sensations  of  years.  Painful  though  some  of  it  has 
been,  it  was  still  welcome.  Difficulty  and  toil  give  the  soul 
strength  to  crush,  in  a  loftier  region,  the  passions  which  draw 
strength  only  from  the  earth.  So  long  as  we  listen  to  the  purer 
promptings  within  us,  there  is  a  Power  invisible,  though  not  un- 
felt,  who  protects  us — amid  the  toil  and  tumult  and  soiling  strug- 
gle, there  is  ever  an  eye  that  watches,  ever  a  heart  that  overflows 
with  Infinite  and  Almighty  Love  !  Let  us  trust  then  in  that 
Eternal  Spirit,  who  pours  out  on  us  his  warm  and  boundless  bless- 
ings, through  the  channels  of  so  many  kindred  human  hearts ! 


308  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

WINTER    TRAVELINGr   AMONG    THE   APPENINES. 

Valley  of  the  Arno,  Dec.  22. — It  is  a  glorious  morning  aftei 
our  two  days'  walk,  through  rain  and  mud,  among  these  stormy 
Appenines.  The  range  of  high  peaks,  among  which  is  the  cele- 
brated monastery  of  Camaldoli,  lie  just  before  us,  their  summits 
dazzling  with  the  new  fallen  snow.  The  clouds  are  breaking 
away,  and  a  few  rosy  flushes  announce  the  approach  of  the  sun. 
It  has  rained  during  the  night,  and  the  fields  are  as  green  and 
fresh  as  on  a  morning  in  spring. 

We  left  Florence  on  the  20th,  while  citizens  and  strangers 
were  vainly  striving  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Emperor  of  Russia. 
He  is,  from  some  cause,  very  shy  of  being  seen,  in  his  journeys 
from  place  to  place,  using  the  greatest  art  and  diligence  to  pre- 
vent the  time  of  his  departure  and  arrival  from  being  known. 
On  taking  leave  of  Powers,  I  found  him  expecting  the  Autocrat, 
as  he  had  signified  his  intention  of  visiting  his  studio ;  it  was  a 
cause  of  patriotic  pride  to  find  that  crowned  heads  know  and  ap- 
preciate the  genius  of  our  sculptor.  The  sky  did  not  promise 
much,  as  v/e  set  out ;  when  we  had  entered  the  Appenines  and 
taken  a  last  look  of  the  lovely  valley  behind  us,  and  the  great 
dome  of  the  city  where  we  had  spent  four  delightful  months,  it 
began  to  rain  heavily.  Determined  to  conquer  the  weather  at 
the  beginning,  we  kept  on,  although  before  many  miles  were 
passed,  it  became  too  penetrating  to  be  agreeable.  The  moun- 
tains grew  nearly  black  under  the  shadow  of  the  clouds,  and  the 
storms  swept  drearily  down  their  passes  and  defiles,  till  the  scene- 
ry looked  more  like  the  Hartz  than  Italy.  We  were  obliged  to 
stop  at  Ponte  Sieve  and  dry  our  saturated  garments :  when,  as 
the  rain  slackened  somewhat,  we  rounded  the  foot  of  the  moun. 


PEASANTS   OF   THE  APPENINES.  309 

tain  of  Vallombrosa,  above  the  swollen  and  noisy  Arno,  to  the 
little  village  of  Cucina. 

We  entered  the  only  inn  in  the  place,  followed  by  a  crowd  of 
wondering  boys,  for  two  such  travelers  had  probably  never  been 
seen  there.  They  made  a  blazing  fire  for  us  in  the  broad  chim- 
ney, and  after  the  police  of  the  place  satisfied  themselves  that  we 
were  not  dangerous  characters,  they  asked  many  questions  about 
our  country.  I  excited  the  sympathy  of  the  women  greatly  in 
our  behalf  bv  telling^  them  we  had  three  thousand  miles  of  sea 
between  us  and  our  homes.  They  exclaimed  in  the  most  sym- 
pathising tones  :  "  Poverinif  so  far  to  go  ! — three  thousand  miles 
of  water !" 

The  next  morninsj  we  followed  the  ri^jht  bank  of  the  Arno.  At 
Incisa,  a  large  town  on  the  river,  the  narrow  pass  broadens  into  a 
large  and  fertile  plain,  bordered  on  the  north  by  the  mountains. 
The  snow  storms  were  sweeping  around  their  summits  the  whole 
day,  and  I  thought  of  the  desolate  situation  of  the  good  monks  who 
had  so  hospitably  entertained  us  three  months  before.  It  was 
weary  traveling  ;  but  at  Levane  our  fatigues  were  soon  forgotten. 
Two  or  three  peasants  were  sitting  last  night  beside  the  blazing 
fire,  and  we  were  amused  to  hear  them  talkino;  about  us.  I  over- 
heard  one  asking  another  to  converse  with  us  awhile.  "  Why 
should  I  speak  to  them  ?"  said  he  ;  'j  they  are  not  of  our  profession 
— we  are  swineherds,  and  they  do  not  care  to  talk  with  us."  How- 
ever, his  curiosity  prevailed  at  last,  and  we  had  a  long  conversation 
together.  It  seemed  difficult  for  them  to  comprehend  how  there 
could  be  so  much  water  to  cross,  witliout  any  land,  before  reach- 
ing our  country.  Finding  we  were  going  to  Rome,  I  overheard 
one  remark  we  were  pilgrims,  which  seemed  to  be  the  general 
supposition,  as  there  are  few  foot-travelers  in  Italy.  The  people 
said  to  one  another  as  we  passed  along  the  road  : — "  They  are 
making  a  journey  of  penance !"  These  peasants  expressed 
themselves  very  well  for  persons  of  their  station,  but  they  were 
remarkably  ignorant  of  everything  beyond  their  own  olive  or- 
chards and  vine  fields. 

Perugia,  Bee.  24. — On  leaving  Levane,  the  morning  gave  a 
promise,  and  the  sun  winked  at  us  once  or  twice  through  the 
broken  clouds,  with  a  watery  eye  ;  but  our  cup  was  not  yet  full. 


310  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


After  crossing  one  or  two  shoulders  of  the  range  of  hills,  we  de- 
scended to  the  great  upland  plain  of  Central  Italy,  watered  by  the 
sources  of  the  Arno  and  the  Tiber.  The  scenery  is  of  a  remark- 
able character.  The  hills  appear  to  have  been  washed  and  swept 
by  some  mighty  flood.  They  are  worn  into  every  shape — pyra- 
mids, castles,  towers — standing  desolate  and  brown,  in  long  ranges, 
like  the  ruins  of  mountains.  The  plain  is  scarred  with  deep  gul- 
leys,  adding  to  the  look  of  decay  which  accords  so  well  with  the 
Cyclopean  relics  of  the  country. 

A  storm  of  hail  which  rolled  away  before  us,  disclosed  the  city 
of  Arezzo,  on  a  hill  at  the  other  end  of  the  plain,  its  heavy  cathe- 
dral crowning  the  pyramidal  mass  of  buildings.  Our  first  care 
was  to  find  a  good  trattoria,  for  hunger  spoke  louder  than  senti- 
ment, and  then  we  sought  the  house  where  Petrarch  was  born. 
A  young  priest  showed  it  to  us  on  the  summit  of  the  hill.  It  has 
not  been  changed  since  he  lived  in  it. 

On  leaving  Florence,  we  determined  to  pursue  the  same  plan 
as  in  Germany,  of  stopping  at  the  inns  frequented  by  the  common 
people.  They  treated  us  here,  as  elsewhere,  with  great  kind- 
ness and  sympathy,  and  we  were  freed  from  the  outrageous  im- 
positions practised  at  the  greater  hotels.  They  always  built  a 
large  fire  to  dry  us,  after  our  day's  walk  in  the  rain,  and  placing 
chairs  in  the  hearth,  which  was  raised  several  feet  above  the 
floor,  stationed  us  there,  like  the  giants  Gog  and  Magog,  while 
the  children,  assembled  below,  gazed  up  in  open-mouthed  wonder 
at  our  elevated  greatness.  They  even  invited  us  to  share  their 
simple  meals  with  them,  and  it  was  amusing  to  hear  their  good- 
hearted  exclamations  of  pity  at  finding  we  were  so  far  from  home 
We  slept  in  the  great  beds  (for  the  most  of  the  Italian  beds  are 
calculated  for  a  man,  wife,  and  four  children  !)  without  fear  of 
being  assassinated,  and  only  met  with  banditti  in  dreams. 

This  is  a  very  unfavorable  time  of  the  year  for  foot-traveling. 
We  were  obliged  to  wait  three  or  four  weeks  in  Florence  for  a 
remittance  from  America,  which  not  only  prevented  our  leaving 
as  soon  as  was  desirable,  but,  by  the  additional  expense  of  living, 
left  us  much  smaller  means  than  we  required.  However,  through 
the  kindness  of  a  generous  countryman,  who  unhesitatingly  loaned 
us  a  considerable  sum,  we  vvere  enabled  to  start  with  thirty  dollars 


A  RIDE  IN   A  CALESINO-  31 

each,  which,  with  care  and  economy,  will  be  quite  sufficient  to 
take  us  to  Paris,  by  way  of  Rome  and  Naples,  if  these  storms  do 
not  prevent  us  from  walking.  Greece  and  the  Orient,  which  I 
so  ardently  hoped  to  visit,  are  now  out  of  the  question.  We 
walked  till  noon  to-day,  over  the  Val  di  Chiana  to  Camuscia,  the 
last  post-station  in  the  Tuscan  dominions.  On  a  mountain  near 
it  is  the  city  of  Cortona,  still  enclospd  within  its  Cyclopean  walls, 
built  long  before  the  foundation  of  Rome.  Here  our  patience 
gave  way,  melted  down  by  the  unremitting  rains,  and  while  eat- 
ing dinner  we  made  a  bargain  for  a  vehicle  to  bring  us  to  this 
city.  We  gave  a  little  more  than  half  of  what  the  vetturino  de- 
manded, which  was  still  an  exorbitant  price — two  scudi  each  for 
a  ride  of  thirty  miles. 

In  a  short  time  we  were  called  to  take  our  seats ;  I  beheld  with 
consternation  a  rickety,  uncovered,  two-wheeled  vehicle,  to  which 
a  single  lean  horse  was  attached.  "What!"  said  I;  "is  that 
the  carriage  you  promised  V'  "  You  bargained  for  a  calesino,^^ 
said  he,  "  and  there  it  is !"  adding,  moreover,  that  there  was  no- 
thing else  in  the  place.  So  we  clambered  up,  thrust  our  feet 
among  the  hay,  and  the  machine  rolled  off  with  a  kind  of  saw-mill 
motion,  at  the  rate  of  five  miles  an  hour. 

Soon  after,  in  ascending  the  mountain  of  the  Spelunca,  a  sheet 
of  blue  water  was  revealed  below  us — the  Lake  of  Thrasymene  ! 
From  the  eminence  around  which  we  drove,  we  looked  on  the 
whole  of  its  broad  surface  and  the  mountains  which  encompass  it. 
It  is  a  magnificent  sheet  of  water,  in  size  and  shape  somewhat 
like  New  York  Bay,  but  the  heights  around  it  are  far  higher  than 
the  hills  of  Jersey  or  Staten  Island.  Three  beautiful  islands  lie 
in  it.  near  the  eastern  shore. 

While  our  calesino  was  stopped  at  the  papal  custom-house,  I 
gazed  on  the  memorable  field  below  us.  A  crescent  plain,  be- 
tween the  mountain  and  the  lake,  was  the  arena  where  two 
mighty  empires  met  in  combat.  The  place  seems  marked  by  na- 
ture for  the  scene  of  some  great  event.  I  experienced  a  thrilling 
emotion,  such  as  no  battle  plain  has  excited,  since,  when  a  school- 
boy, I  rambled  over  the  field  of  Brandywine.  I  looked  through 
the  long  arcades  of  patriarchal  olives,  and  tried  to  cover  the  field 
with  the  shadows  of  the  Roman  and  Carthaginian  myriads.     I  re- 


312  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


called  the  shock  of  meeting  legions,  the  clash  of  swords  and  buck- 
lers, and  the  waving  standards  amid  the  dust  of  battle,  while  stood 
on  the  mountain  amphitheatre,  trembling  and  invisible,  the  pro- 
tecting deities  of  Rome. 

"  Far  other  scene  is  Thrasymene  now !" 

We  rode  over  the  plain,  passed  through  the  dark  old  town  of 
Passignano,  built  on  a  rocky  point  by  the  lake,  and  dashed  along 
the  shore.  A  dark,  stormy  sky  bent  over  us,  and  the  roused 
waves  broke  in  foam  on  the  rocks.  The  winds  whistled  among 
the  bare  oak  boughs,  and  shook  the  olives  till  they  twinkled  all 
over.  The  vetturino  whipped  our  old  horse  into  a  gallop,  and  we 
were  borne  on  in  unison  with  the  scene,  which  would  have  an- 
swered for  one  of  Hoffman's  wildest  stories. 

Ascending  a  long  liill,  we  took  a  last  look  in  the  dusk  at  Thra- 
symene, and  continued  our  journey  among  the  Appenines.  The 
vetturino  was  to  have  changed  horses  at  Magione,  thirteen  miles 
from  Perugia,  but  there  were  none  to  be  had,  and  our  poor  beast 
was  obliged  to  perform  the  whole  journey  without  rest  or  food.  It 
grew  very  dark,  and  a  storm,  with  thunder  and  lightning,  swept 
among  the  hills.  The  clouds  were  of  pitchy  darkness,  and  we 
could  see  nothing  beyond  the  road,  except  the  lights  of  peasant- 
cottages  trembling  through  the  gloom.  Now  and  then  a  flash  of 
lightning  revealed  the  black  masses  of  the  mountains,  on  which 
the  solid  sky  seemed  to  rest.  The  wind  and  cold  rain  swept 
wailing  past  us,  as  if  an  evil  spirit  were  abroad  on  the  darkness. 
Three  hours  of  such  nocturnal  travel  brought  us  here,  wet  and 
chilly,  as  well  as  our  driver,  but  I  pitied  the  poor  horse  more  than 
him. 

When  we  looked  out  the  window,  on  awaking,  the  clustered 
house-tops  of  the  city,  and  the  summits  of  the  mountains  near 
were  covered  with  snow.  But  on  walking  to  the  battlements  we 
saw  that  the  valleys  below  were  green  and  untouched.  Perugia, 
for  its  "  pride  of  place,"  must  endure  the  storms,  while  the  hum- 
bler villages  below  escape  them.  As  the  rain  continues,  we  have 
taken  seats  in  a  country  diligence  for  Foligno  and  shall  depart  in 
a  few  minutes. 

Dec.  28. — We  left  Perugia  in  a  close  but  covered  vehicle,  and 


VALE   OF   CHITUMNUS.  313 

descending  the  mountain,  crossed  the  muddy  and  rapid  Tiber  in 
the  valley  below.  All  day  we  rode  slowly  among  the  hills ; 
where  the  ascent  was  steep,  two  or  four  large  oxen  were  hitched 
before  the  horses.  1  saw  little  of  the  scenery,  for  our  Italian  com- 
panions would  not  bear  the  windows  open.  Once,  when  we 
stopped,  I  got  out  and  found  we  were  in  the  region  of  snow,  at  the 
foot  of  a  stormy  peak,  which  towered  sublimely  above.  At  dusk, 
we  entered  Foligno,  and  were  driven  to  the  "  Croce  Bianca" — 
glad  to  be  thirty  miles  further  on  our  way  to  Rome. 

After  some  discussion  with  a  vetturino,  who  was  to  leave  next 
morning,  we  made  a  contract  with  him  for  the  remainder  of  the 
journey,  for  the  rain,  which  fell  in  torrents,  forbade  all  thought 
of  pedestrianism.  At  five  o'clock  we  rattled  out  of  the  gate,  and 
drove  by  the  waning  moon  and  morning  starlight,  down  the  vale 
of  the  Clitumnus.  As  the  dawn  stole  on,  1  watched  eagerly  the 
features  of  the  scene.  Instead  of  a  narrow  glen,  as  my  fancy 
had  pictured,  v/e  were  in  a  valley,  several  miles  broad,  covered 
with  rich  orchards  and  fertile  fields.  A  glorious  range  of  m'oun- 
tains  bordered  it  on  the  north,  looking  like  Alps  in  their  winter 
garments.  A  rosy  flush  stole  over  the  snow,  which  kindled  with 
the  growing  morn,  till  they  shone  like  clouds  that  float  in  the  sun- 
rise. The  Clitumnus,  beside  us,  was  the  purest  of  streams.  The 
heavy  rains  which  had  fallen,  had  not  soiled  in  the  least  its  limpid 
crystal. 

When  it  grew  light  enough,  I  looked  at  our  companions  for  the 
three  days'  journey.  The  two  other  inside  seats  were  occupied 
by  a  tradesman  of  Trieste,  with  his  wife  and  child  ;  an  old  sol- 
dier, and  a  young  dragoon  going  to  visit  his  parents  after  seven 
years'  absence,  occupied  the  front  part.  Persons  traveling  toge 
ther  in  a  carriage  are  not  long  in  becoming  acquainted — close 
companionship  soon  breeds  familiarity.  Before  night,  I  had  made 
a  fast  friend  of  the  young  soldier,  learned  to  bear  the  perverse 
humor  of  the  child  with  as  much  patience  as  its  father,  and 
even  drawn  looks  of  grim  kindness  from  the  crusty  old  vettu- 

rino. 

Our  mid-day  resting  place  was  Spoleto.  As  there  were  two 
hours  given  us,  we  took  a  ramble  through  the  city,  visited  the 
ruins  of  its  Roman  theatre  and  saw  the  gate  erected  to  COm- 

15 


314  VIEWS  A-FOOT 


memorate  the  victory  gained  here  over  Hannibal,  which  stopped  his 
triumphal  march  towards  Rome.  A  great  part  of  the  afternoon 
was  spent  in  ascending  among  the  defiles  of  Monte  Somma,  the 
highest  pass  on  the  road  between  Ancona  and  Rome.  Assisted 
by  two  yoke  of  oxen  we  slowly  toiled  up  through  the  snow, 
the  mountains  on  both  sides  covered  with  thickets  of  box  and 
evergreen  oaks,  among  whose  leafy  screens  the  banditti  hide 
themselves.  It  is  not  considered  dangerous  at  present,  but  as  the 
dragoons  who  used  to  patrol  this  pass  have  been  sent  oil'  to  Bo- 
logna, to  keep  down  the  rebellion,  the  robbers  will  probably  re- 
turn to  their  old  haunts  again.  We  saw  many  suspicious  look- 
ing coverts,  where  they  might  have  hidden. 

We  slept  at  Terni  and  did  not  see  the  falls — not  exactly  on 
Wordsworth's  principle  of  leaving  Yarrow  "  unvisited,"'  but  be- 
cause under  the  circumstances,  it  was  impossible.  The  vettu- 
jfino  did  not  arrive  there  till  after  dark  ;  he  was  to  leave  before 
dawn ;  the  distance  was  five  miles,  and  the  roads  very  bad.  Be- 
sides, we  had  seen  falls  quite  as  grand,  which  needed  only  a 
Byron  to  make  them  as  renowned — we  had  been  told  that  those 
of  Tivoli,  which  we  shall  see,  were  equally  fine.  The  Velino, 
which  we  crossed  near  Terni,  was  not  a  large  stream — in  short, 
we  hunted  as  many  reasons  as  we  could  find,  why  the  falls 
need  not  be  seen. 

Leaving  Terni  before  day,  we  drove  up  the  long  vale  towards 
Narni.  The  roads  were  frozen  hard  ;  the  ascent  becoming  more 
difficult,  the  vetturino  was  obliged  to  stop  at  a  farm-house  and  get 
another  pair  of  horses,  with  which,  and  a  handsome  young  canta- 
dino  as  postillion,  we  reached  Narni  in  a  short  time.  In  climbing 
the  hill,  we  had  a  view  of  the  whole  valley  of  Terni,  shut  in  on 
all  sides  by  snow-crested  Appenines,  and  threaded  by  the  Nar, 
whose  waters  flow  "  with  many  windings,  through  the  vale  !" 

At  Otricoli,  while  dinner  was  preparing,  I  walked  around  the 
crumbling  battlements  to  look  down  into  the  valley  and  trace  the 
far  windings  of  the  Tiber.  In  rambling  through  the  crooked 
streets,  we  saw  everywhere  the  remains  of  the  splendor  which 
this  place  boasted  in  the  days  of  Rome.  Fragments  of  fluted 
pillars  stood  here  and  there  in  the  streets  ;  large  blocks  of  mar. 
ble  covered  with  sculpture  and  inscriptions  were  built  mto  the 


TRAVELING    WITH  A   VETTURINO.  315 

houses,  defaced  statues  used  as  door-ornaments,  and  the  stepping- 
stone  to  our  rude  inn,  worn  every  day  by  the  feet  of  grooms  and 
vetturini,  contained  some  letters  of  an  inscription  which  may  have 
recorded  the  glory  of  an  emperor. 

Traveling  with  a  vetturino,  is  unquestionably  the  pleasantest 
way  of  seeing  Italy.  The  easy  rate  of  the  journey  allows  time 
for  becoming  well  acquainted  with  the  country,  and  the  tourist 
is  freed  from  the  annoyance  of  quarrelling  with  cheating  land- 
lords. A  translation  of  our  written  contract,  will  best  explain 
this  mode  of  traveling : 

"Carriage  for  Rome. 

"  Our  contract  is,  to  be  conducted  to  Rome  for  the  sum  of 
twenty  francs  each,  say  20f.  and  the  huona  mano,  if  we  are 
well  served.  We  must  have  from  the  vetturino,  Giuseppe  Ner- 
piti,  supper  each  night,  a  free  chamber  with  two  beds,  and  fire, 
until  we  shall  arrive  at  Rome. 

"  I,  Geronymo  Sartarelli,  steward  of  the  Inn  of  the  White 
Cross,  at  Foligno,  in  testimony  of  the  above  contract." 

Beyond  Otricoli,  we  passed  through  some  relics  of  an  age  an- 
terior to  Rome.  A  few  soiled  masses  of  masonry,  black  with 
age,  stood  along  the  brow  of  the  mountain,  on  whose  extremity 
were  the  ruins  of  a  castle  of  the  middle  ages.  We  crossed  the 
Tiber  on  a  bridge  built  by  Augustus  Caesar,  and  reached  Bor- 
ghetto  as  the  sun  was  gilding  with  its  last  rays  the  ruined  cit- 
adel above.  As  the  carriao;e  with  its  four  horses  was  toilinsf 
slowly  up  the  hill,  we  got  out  and  walked  before,  to  gaze  on  the 
green  meadows  of  the  Tiber. 

On  descending  from  Narni,  I  noticed  a  high,  prominent  moun- 
tain, whose  ridgy  back,  somewhat  like  the  profile  of  a  face,  re- 
minded me  of  the  Traunstein,  in  Upper  Austria.  As  we  ap- 
proached, its  form  gradually  changed,  until  it  stood  on  the  Cam- 
pagna 

"  Like  a  long-swept  wave  about  to  break, 
That  ou  the  curl  hangs  pausing" — 

and  by  that  token  of  a  great  bard,  I  recognized  Monte  Soracte. 
The  dragoon    took    us    by  the   arms,  and   away  we  scampered 


316  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


over  the  Campagna,  with  one  of  the  loveliest  sunsets  before  us,' 
that  ever  painted  itself  on  my  retina.  I  cannot  portray  in 
words  the  glory  that  flooded  the  whole  western  heaven.  It 
was  like  a  sea  of  melted  ruby,  amethyst  and  topaz — deep,  daz- 
zling and  of  crystal  transparency.  The  color  changed  in  tone 
every  few  minutes,  till  in  half  an  hour  it  sank  away  before  the 
twilight  to  a  belt  of  deep  orange  along  the  west. 

We  left  Civita  Castellana  before  daylight.  The  sky  was  red 
with  dawn  as  we  approached  Nepi,  and  we  got  out  to  walk,  in  the 
clear,  frosty  air.  A  magnificent  Roman  aqueduct,  part  of  it  ;i 
double  row  of  arches,  still  supplies  the  town  with  water. 
There  is  a  deep  ravine,  appearing  as  if  rent  in  the  ground  by 
some  convulsion,  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  city.  A  clear 
stream  that  steals  through  the  arches  of  the  aqueduct,  falls  in 
a  cascade  of  sixty  feet  down  into  the  chasm,  sending  up  constant 
wreaths  of  spray  through  the  evergreen  foliage  that  clothes  the 
rocks.  In  walking  over  the  desolate  Campagna,  we  saw  many 
deep  chambers  dug  in  the  earth,  used  by  the  charcoal  burners  ; 
the  air  was  filled  with  sulphureous  exhalations,  very  offensive 
to  the  smell,  which  rose  from  the  ground  in  many  places. 

Miles  and  miles  of  the  dreary  waste,  covered  only  with  flocks 
of  grazing  sheep,  were  passed,-^-and  about  noon  we  reached 
Baccano,  a  small  post  station,  twenty  miles  from  Rome.  A  long 
hill  rose  before  us,  and  we  sprang  out  of  the  carriage  and  ran 
ahead,  to  see  Rome  from  its  summit.  As  we  approached  the  top, 
the  Campagna  spread  far  before  and  around  us,  level  and  blue  as 
an  ocean.  I  climbed  up  a  high  bank  by  the  roadside,  and  the 
whole  scene  came  in  view.  Perhaps  eighteen  miles  distant  rose 
the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  near  the  horizon — a  small  spot  on  the 
vast  plain.  Beyond  it  and  further  east,  were  the  mountains  of 
Albano — on  our  left  Soracte  and  the  Appenines.  and  a  blue  line 
along  the  west  betrayed  the  Mediterranean.  There  was  nothing 
peculiarly  beautiful  or  sublime  in  the  landscape,  but  few  other 
scenes  on  earth  combine  in  one  glance  such  a  myriad  of  mighty 
associations,  or  bewilder  the  mind  with  such  a  crowd  of  confused 
emotions. 

As  we  approached  Rome,  the   dragoon,  with  whom  we  had 
been  walking  all  day,  became  anxious  and  impatient.     He  had 


ENTRANCE  INTO  ROME.  317 

not  heard  from  his  parents  for  a  long  time,  and  knew  not  if  they 
were  living.  His  desire  to  be  at  the  end  of  his  journey  finally 
became  so  great,  that  he  hailed  a  peasant  who  was  driving  by  in 
a  light  vehicle,  left  our  slow  carriage  and  went  out  of  sight  in  a 
gallop. 

As  we  descended  to  the  Tiber  in  the  dusk  of  evening,  the 
domes  and  spires  of  Rome  came  gradually  into  view,  St.  Peter's 
standing  like  a  mountain  in  the  midst  of  them.  Crossing  the  yel 
low  river  by  the  Ponte  Molle,  two  miles  of  road,  straight  as  an 
arrow,  lay  before  us,  with  the  light  of  the  Porta  del  Popolo  at 
the  end.  I  felt  strangely  excited  as  the  old  vehicle  rumbled 
through  the  arch,  and  we  entered  a  square  with  fountains  and  an 
obelisk  of  Egyptian  granite  in  the  centre.  Delivering  up  our 
passports,  we  waited  until  the  necessary  examinations  were  made, 
and  then  went  forward.  Three  streets  branch  out  from  the 
square,  the  middle  one  of  which,  leading  directly  to  the  Capitol, 
is  the  Corso,  the  Roman  Broadway.  Our  vetturino  chose  that 
to  the  left,  the  Via  della  Scrofa,  leading  off  towards  the  bridge 
of  St.  Angelo.  I  looked  out  the  windows  as  we  drove  along, 
but  saw  nothing  except  butcher-shops,  grocer-stores,  etc. — horri- 
ble objects  for  a  sentimental  traveler  ! 

Being  emptied  out  on  the  pavement  at  last,  our  first  care  was 
to  find  rooms ;  after  searching  through  many  streets,  with  a 
coarse  old  Italian  who  spoke  like  an  angel,  we  arrived  at  a  square 
where  the  music  of  a  fountain  was  heard  through  the  dusk  and 
an  obelisk  cut  out  some  of  the  starlight.  At  the  other  end  I  saw 
a  portico  through  the  darkness,  and  my  heart  gave  a  breathless 
bound  on  recognizing  the  Pantheon — the  matchless  temple  of  An- 
cient Rome  !  And  now  while  I  am  writing,  I  hear  the  gush  of 
the  fountain — and  if  I  step  to  the  window,  I  see  the  time-worn 
but  still  glorious  edifice. 

On  returning  for  our  baggage,  we  met  the  funeral  procession 
of  the  Princess  Altieri.  Priests  in  white  and  gold  carried  flam- 
ing torches,  and  the  coffin,  covered  with  a  magnificent  golden 
pall,  was  borne  in  a  splendid  hearse,  guarded  by  four  priests. 
As  we  were  settling  our  account  with  the  vetturino,  who  demanded 
much  more  huona  mano  than  we  were  willing  to  give,  the  young 
dragoon  returned.     He  was  greatly  agitated.     "  I  have  been  at 


318  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


home  !"  said  he,  in  a  voice  tremblins:  with  emotion.  I  was  about 
to  ask  him  further  concerning  his  family,  but  he  kissed  and  em- 
braced us  warmly  and  hurriedly,  saying  he  had  only  come  to  say 
"  addio !"  and  to  leave  us.  I  stop  writing  to  ramble  through 
Rome.  This  city  of  all  cities  to  me — this  dream  of  my  boyhood 
— giant,  god-like,  fallen  Rome — is  around- me,  and  I  revel  in  a 
glow  of  anticipation  and  exciting  thought  that  seems  t*»  change 
my  whole  state  of  being. 


A  DAY'S   RAMBLE  IN   ROME.  319 


I 


CHAPTER    XL. 

ROME. 

Dec.  29. — One  day's  walk  through  Rome — how  shall  I  describe 
it  ?  The  Capitol,  the  Forum^  St.  Peter's,  the  Coliseum — what  few 
hours'  ramble  ever  took  in  places  so  hallowed  by  poetry,  history 
and  art  ?  It  was  a  golden  leaf  in  my  calendar  of  life.  In  think- 
ing over  it  now,  and  drawing  out  the  threads  of  recollection  from 
the  varied  woof  of  thought  I  have  woven  to-day,  I  almost  wonder 
how  I  dared  so  much  at  once  ;  but  within  reach  of  them  all,  how 
was  it  possible  to  wait  ?  Let  me  give  a  sketch  of  our  day's  ram- 
ble. 

Hearing  that  it  was  better  to  visit  the  ruins  by  evening  or 
moonlight,  (alas  !  there  is  no  moon  now)  we  started  out  to  hunt  St. 
Peter's.  Going  in  the  direction  of  the  Corso,  we  passed  the  ruined 
front  of  the  magnificent  Temple  of  Antoninus,  now  used  as  the 
Papal  Custom  House.  We  turned  to  the  right  on  entering  the 
Corso,  expecting  to  have  a  view  of  the  city  from  the  hill  at  its 
southern  end.  It  is  a  magnificent  street,  lined  with  palaces  and 
splendid  edifices  of  every  kind,  and  always  filled  with  crowds  of 
carriages  and  people.  On  leaving  it,  however,  we  became  be- 
wildered among  the  narrow  streets — passed  through  a  market  of 
vegetables,  crowded  with  beggars  and  contadini — threaded  many 
by-ways  between  dark  old  buildings — saw  one  or  two  antique 
fountains  and  many  modern  churches,  and  finally  arrived  at  a 
hill. 

We  ascended  many  steps,  and  then  descending  a  little  towards 
the  other  side,  saw  suddenly  below  us  the  Roman  Forum  /  I 
knew  it  at  once — and  those  three  Corinthian  columns  that  stood 
near  us — what  could  they  be  but  the  remains  of  the  temple  of 
Jupiter  Stator  ?  We  stood  on  the  Capitoline  Hill ;  at  the  foot  was 
the  Arch  of  Septimus  Severus,  brown   with   age  and  shattered ; 


320  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


near  it  stood  the  majestic  front  of  the  Temple  of  Fortune,  its  pil- 
lars of  polished  granite  glistening  in  the  sun,  as  if  they  had  been 
erected  yesterday,  while  on  the  left  the  rank  grass  was  waving 
from  the  arches  and  mighty  walls  of  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars ! 
In  front,  ruin  upon  ruin  lined  the  way  for  half  a  mile,  where  the 
Coliseum  towered  grandly  through  the  blue  morning  mist,  at  the 
base  of  the  Esquiline  Hill ! 

Good  heavens,  what  a  scene !  Grandeur,  such  as  the  world 
never  saw,  once  rose  through  that  blue  atmosphere ;  splendor  in- 
conceivable, the  spoils  of  a  world,  the  triumphs  of  a  thousand  ar- 
mies had  passed  over  that  earth ;  minds  which  for  ages  moved 
the  ancient  world  had  thought  there,  and  words  of  power  and 
glory,  from  the  lips  of  immortal  men,  had  been  syllabled  on  that 
hallowed  air.  To  call  back  all  this  on  the  very  spot,  while  the 
wreck  of  what  once  was,  rose  mouldering  and  desolate  around, 
aroused  a  sublimity  of  thought  and  feeling  too  powerful  for  words. 

Returning  at  hazard  through  the  streets,  we  came  suddenly 
upon  the  column  of  Trajan,  standing  in  an  excavated  square  be- 
low the  level  of  the  city,  amid  a  number  of  broken  granite  col- 
umns, which  formed  part  of  the  Forum  dedicated  to  him  by  Rome, 
after  the  conquest  of  Dacia.  The  column  is  one  hundred  and 
thirty-two  feet  high,  and  entirely  covered  with  bas-reliefs  repre- 
senting his  victories,  v/inding  about  it  in  a  spiral  line  to  the  top. 
The  number  of  figures  is  computed  at  two  thousand  five  hundred, 
and  they  were  of  such  excellence  that  Raphael  used  many  of 
them  for  his  models.  They  are  now  much  defaced,  and  the  col- 
umn is  surmounted  by  a  statue  of  some  saint.  The  inscription 
on  the  pedestal  has  been  erased,  and  the  name  of  Sixtus  V.  sub- 
stituted. Nothing  can  exceed  the  ridiculous  vanitv  of  the  old 
popes  in  thus  mutilating  the  finest  monuments  of  ancient  art. 
You  cannot  look  upon  any  relic  of  antiquity  in  Rome,  but  your 
eyes  are  assailed  by  the  words  "  Pontifex  Maximus,"  in  staring 
modern  letters.  Even  the  magnificent  bronzes  of  the  Pantheon 
were  stripped  to  make  the  baldachin  under  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's. 

Finding  our  way  back  again,  we  took  a  fresh  start,  happily  in 
the  right  direction,  and  after  walking  some  time,  came  out  on  the 
Tiber,  at  the  Bridge  of  St.  Angelo.  The  river  rolled  below  in 
his  muddy  glory,  and  in  front,  on  the  opposite  bank,  stood  "  the 


ST.  PETER'S.  321 


pile  which  Hadrian  reared  on  high" — now,  the  Castle  of  St.  An- 
gelo.  Knowing  that  St.  Peter's  was  to  be  seen  from  this  bridge,  1 
looked  about  in  search  of  it.  There  was  only  one  dome  in  sight, 
large  and  of  beautiful  proportions.  I  said  at  once,  "  surely  that 
cannot  be  St.  Peter's  !"  On  looking  again,  however,  I  saw  the  top 
of  a  massive  range  of  building  near  it,  which  corresponded  so 
nearly  with  the  pictures  of  the  Vatican,  that  1  was  unwillingly 
forced  to  believe  the  mighty  dome  was  really  before  me.  I  re- 
cognized it  as  one  of  those  we  saw  from  the  Capitol,  but  it  ap- 
peared so  much  smaller  when  viewed  from  a  greater  distance, 
that  I  was  quite  deceived.  On  considering  we  were  still  three- 
fourths  of  a  mile  from  it,  and  that  we  could  see  its  minutest  parts 
distinctly,  the  illusion  was  explained. 

Going  directly  down  the  Borgo  Vecchio,  towards  it,  it  seemed 
a  long  time  before  we  arrived  at  the  square  of  St.  Peter's ;  when 
at  length  we  stood  in  front  with  the  majestic  colonnade  sweeping 
around — the  fountains  on  each  side  sending  up  their  showers  of 
silvery  spray — the  mighty  obelisk  of  Egyptian  granite  piercing 
he  sky — and  beyond,  the  great  front  and  dome  of  the  Cathedral, 
I  confessed  my  unmingled  admiration.  It  recalled  to  my  mind 
the  grandeur  of  ancient  Rome,  and  mighty  as  her  edifices  must 
have  been,  I  doubt  if  there  were  many  views  more  overpowerino- 
than  this.  The  fagade  of  St.  Peter's  seemed  close  to  us,  but  it 
was  a  third  of  a  mile  distant,  and  the  people  ascending  the  steps 
dwindled  to  pigmies. 

I  passed  the  obelisk,  went  up  the  long  ascent,  crossed  the -por- 
tico, pushed  aside  the  heavy  leathern  curtain  at  the  entrance,  and 
stood  in  the  great  nave.  I  need  not  describe  my  feelings  at  the 
sight,  but  I  will  tell  the  dimensions,  and  you  may  then  fancy 
what  they  were.  Before  me  was  a  marble  plain  six  hundred 
feet  long,  and  under  the  cross  four  hundred  and  seventeen  feet 
wide  !  One  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above,  sprang  a  glorious  arch, 
dazzling  with  inlaid  gold,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  cross  there 
were  four  hundred  feet  of  air  between  me  and  the  top  of  the  dome  ! 
The  sunbeam,  stealing  through  the  lofty  window  at  one  end  of 
the  transept,  made  a  bar  ot  light  on  the  blue  air,  hazy  with  in- 
cense, one-tenth  of  a  mile  long,  before  it  fell  on  the  mosaics  and 
gilded  shrines  of  the  other  extremity.     The  grand  cupola  alone, 

15* 


322  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


including  lantern  and  cross,  is  two  hundred  and  eighty-five  feet 
high,  or  sixty  feet  higher  than  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument,  and 
the  four  immense  pillars  on  which  it  rests  are  each  one  hundred 
and  thirty-seven  feet  in  circumference !  It  seems  as  if  human 
art  had  outdone  itself  in  producing  this  temple — the  grandest 
which  the  world  ever  erected  for  the  worship  of  the  Living  God  ! 
The  awe  felt  in  looking  up  at  the  giant  arch  of  marble  and  gold, 
did  not  humble  me  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  felt  exalted,  ennobled — 
beings  in  the  form  I  wore  planned  the  glorious  edifice,  and  it 
seemed  that  in  godlike  power  and  perseverance,  they  were  in- 
deed but  "  a  little  lower  than  the  angels  !"  I  felt  that,  if  fallen, 
my  race  was  still  mighty  and  immortal. 

The  Vatican  is  only  open  twice  a  week,  on  days  which  are  not 
festas;  most  fortunately,  to-day  happened  to  be  one  of  these,  and 
we  took  a  run  through  its  endless  halls.  The  extent  and  magni- 
ficence of  the  gallery  of  sculpture  is  perfectly  amazing.  The 
halls,  which  are  filled  to  overflowing  with  the  finest  works  of  an- 
cient art,  would,  if  placed  side  by  side,  make  a  row  more  than 
two  miles  in  length  !  You  enter  at  once  into  a  hall  of  marble, 
with  a  magnificent  arched  ceiling,  a  third  of  a  mile  long  ;  the 
sides  are  covered  for  a  great  distance  with  inscriptions  of  every 
kind,  divided  into  compartments  according  to  the  era  of  the  em- 
pire to  which  they  refer.  One  which  I  examined,  appeared  to 
be  a  kind  of  index  of  the  roads  in  Italy,  with  the  towns  on  them ; 
and  we  could  decipher  on  that  time-worn  block,  the  very  route  I 
had  followed  from  Florence  hither. 

Then  came  the  statues,  and  here  I  am  bewildered,  how  to  de- 
scribe them.  Hundicds  upon  hundreds  of  figures — statues  of 
citizens,  generals,  emperors  and  gods — fauns,  satyrs  and  nymphs 
— children,  cupids  and  tritons — in  fact,  it  seemed  inexhaustible. 
Many  of  them,  too,  were  forms  of  matchless  beauty  ;  there  were 
Venuses  and  nymphs,  born  of  the  loftiest  dreams  of  grace  ;  fiiuns 
on  whose  faces  shone  the  very  soul  of  humor,  and  heroes  and  di- 
vinities with  an  air  of  majesty  worthy  the  "  land  of  lost  gods  and 
ffodlike  men  !" 

I  am  lost  in  astonishment  at  the  perfection  of  art  attained  by 
the  Greeks  and  Romans.  There  is  scarcely  a  form  of  beauty, 
that  has  ever  met  my  eye,  which  is  not  to  be  found  in  this  gallery. 


GALLERY   OF   THE   VITICAN.  323 


I  should  almost  despair  of  such  another  blaze  of  glory  on  the 
Morld,  were  it  not  my  devout  belief  that  what  has  been  done  may 
be  done  again,  and  had  I  not  faith  that  the  dawn  in  which  we 
live  will  bring  another  day  equally  glorious.  And  why  should 
not  America,  with  the  experience  and  added  wisdom  which  three 
thousand  years  have  slowly  yielded  to  the  old  world,  joined  to 
the  giant  energy  of  her  youth  and  freedom,  re-bestow  on  the 
world  the  divine  creations  of  art  ?     Let  Powers  answer  ! 

But  let  us  step  on  to  the  hemicycle  of  the  Belvidere,  and  view 
some  works  greater  than  any  we  have  yet  seen,  or  even  imagined. 
The  adjoining  gallery  is  filled  with  masterpieces  of  sculpture, 
but  we  will  keep  our  eyes  unwearied  and  merely  glance  along 
the  rows.  At  length  we  reach  a  circular  court  with  a  fountain 
flinging  up  its  waters  in  the  centre.  Before  us  is  an  open  cabi- 
net ;  there  is  a  beautiful,  manly  form  within,  but  you  would  not 
for  an  instant  take  it  for  the  Apollo.  By  the  Gorgon  head  it 
holds  aloft,  we  recognize  Canova's  Perseus — he  has  copied  the 
form  and  attitude  of  the  Apollo,  but  he  could  not  breathe  into  it 
the  same  warming  fire.  It  seemed  to  me  particularly  lifeless, 
and  I  greatly  preferred  his  Boxers,  who  stand  on  either  side  of  ii. 
One,  who  has  drawn  back  in  the  attitude  of  striking,  looks  as  if 
he  could  fell  an  ox  with  a  single  blow  of  his  powerful  arm.  The 
other  is  a  more  lithe  and  agile  figure,  and  there  is  a  quick  fire 
in  his  countenance  which  might  overbalance  the  massive  strength 
of  his  opponent. 

Another  cabinet — this  is  the  far-famed  Antinous.  A  counte- 
nance of  perfect  Grecian  beauty,  with  a  form  such  as  we  would 
imagine  for  one  of  Homer's  heroes.  His  features  are  in  repose, 
and  there  is  something  iti  their  calm,  settled  expression,  strikingly 
like  life. 

Now  we  look  on  a  scene  of  the  deepest  physical  agony.  Mark 
how  every  muscle  of  old  Laocoon's  body  is  distended  to  the  utmost 
in  the  mighty  struggle  !  What  intensity  of  pain  in  the  quivering, 
distorted  features !  Every  nerve,  which  despair  can  call  into  ac- 
tion, is  excited  in  one  giant  effort,  and  a  scream  of  anguish  seems 
just  to  have  quivered  on  those  marble  lips.  The  serpents  have 
rolled  their  strano-ling  coils  around  father  and  sons,  but  terror  has 
taken  away  the  strength  of  the  latter,  and  they  make  but  feeble 


324  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


resistance.  After  looking  with  indifference  on  tiie  many  casts  of 
this  group,  I  was  the  more  moved  by  the  magnificent  original. 
It  deserves  all  the  admiration  that  has  been  heaped  sipon  it. 

I  absolutely  trembled  on  approaching  the  cabinet  of  the  Apollo. 
I  had  built  up  in  fancy  a  glorious  ideal,  drawn  from  all  that  bards 
have  sung  or  artists  have  rhapsodized  about  its  divine  beauty.  I 
feared  disappointment — I  dreaded  to  have  my  ideal  displaced  and 
my  faith  in  the  power  of  human  genius  overthrown  by  a  form 
less  than  perfect.  However,  with  a  feeling  of  desperate  excite- 
ment, I  entered  and  looked  upon  it. 

Now  what  shall  I  say  of  it  ?  How  make  you  comprehend  its 
immortal  beauty  ?  To  what  shall  I  liken  its  glorious  perfection 
of  form,  or  the  fire  that  imbues  the  cold  marble  with  the  soul  of  a 
god  ?  Not  with  sculpture,  for  it  stands  alone  and  above  all  other 
works  of  art — nor  with  men,  for  il  has  a  majesty  more  than  hu- 
man. I  gazed  on  it,  lost  in  wonder  and  joy — joy  that  I  could,  at 
last,  take  into  my  mind  a  faultless  ideal  of  godlike,  exalted  man- 
hood. The  figure  appears  actually  to  possess  a  spirit,  and  I 
looked  on  it,  not  as  on  a  piece  of  marble,  but  a  being  of  loftier 
mould,  and  half  expected  to  see  him  step  forward  when  the  arrow 
had  reached  its  mark.  I  would  give  worlds  to  feel  one  moment 
the  sculptor's  mental  triumph  when  his  work  was  completed  ; 
that  one  exulting  thrill  must  have  repaid  him  for  every  ill  he 
might  have  suffered  on  earth  !  With  what  divine  inspiration  has 
he  wrought  its  faultless  lines !  There  is  a  spirit  in  every  limb 
which  mere  toil  could  not  have  given.  It  must  have  been  caught 
in  those  lofty  moments 

"  When  each  conception  was  a  heavenly  guest — 
A  ray  of  inimortality — and  stood 
Star-like,  around,  until  they  gathered  to  a  god  ?" 

We  ran  through  a  series  of  halls,  roofed  with  golden  stars  on 
a  deep  blue,  midnight  sky,  and  filled  with  porphyry  vases,  black 
marble  gods,  and  mummies.  Some  of  the  statues  shone  with  the 
matchless  polish  they  had  received  from  a  Theban  artisan  before 
Athens  was  founded,  and  are,  apparently,  as  fresh  and  perfect  as 
when  looked  upon  by  the  vassals  of  Sesostris.  Notwithstanding 
their  stiff,  rough-hewn  limbs,  there  were  some  figures  of  great 


NEW  YEAR  IN  ROME.  225 

^    '  ~  ■  '  ■  I      ■—  I  —  —  --  — -'■    ■    '  -■■■     ■    -  .  ■■     M 

beauty,  and  they  gave  nie  a  much  higher  idea  of  Egyptian  sculp- 
ture. In  an  adjoining  hall,  containing  colossal  busts  of  the  gods, 
is  a  vase  forty-one  feet  in  circumference,  of  one  solid  block  of  red 
porphyry. 

The  "  Transfiguration"  is  truly  called  the  first  picture  in  the 
world.  The  same  glow  of  inspiration  which  created  the  Belvi- 
dere,  must  have  been  required  to  paint  the  Saviour's  aerial  form. 
The  three  figures  hover  above  the  earth  in  a  blaze  of  glory,  seem- 
ingly mdependent  of  all  material  laws.  The  terrified  Apostles 
on  the  mount,  and  the  wondering  group  below,  correspond  in  the 
grandeur  of  their  expression  to  the  awe  and  majesty  of  the  scene. 
The  only  blemish  in  the  sublime  perfection  of  the  picture  is  the 
introduction  of  the  two  small  figures  on  the  left  hand  ;  who,  by-. 
the-bye,  were  Cardinals,  inserted  there  hy  command.  Some 
travelers  say  the  color  is  all  lost,  but  I  was  agreeably  surprised 
to  find  it  well  preserved.  It  is,  undoubtedly,  somewhat  imperfect 
in  this  respect,  as  Raphael  died  before  it  was  entirely  finished  ; 
but  "  take  it  all  in  all,"  you  may  search  the  world  in  vain  to  find 
its  equal. 

January  1,  1846. — New  Year's  Day  in  the  Eternal  City  !  It 
will  be  something  to  say  in  after  years,  that  I  have  seen  one 
year  open  in  Rome — that,  while  my  distant  friends  were  making 
up  for  the  winter  without,  with  good  cheer  around  the  merry 
board,  I  have  walked  in  sunshine  by  the  ruins  of  the  Coliseum, 
watched  the  orange  groves  gleaming  with  golden  fruitage  in  the 
Farnese  gardens,  trodden  the  daisied  meadow  around  the  sepul- 
chre of  Caius  Cestius,  and  mused  by  the  graves  of  Shelley, 
Keats  and  Salvator  Rosa  !  The  Palace  of  the  Caesars  looked  even 
more  mournful  in  the  pale,  slant  sunshine,  and  the  yellow  Tiber, 
as  he  flowed  through  the  "  marble  wilderness,"  seemed  sullenly 
counting  up  the  long  centuries  during  which  degenerate  slaves 
have  trodden  his  banks.  A  leaden -colored  haze  clothed  the  seven 
hills,  and  heavy  silence  reigned  among  the  ruins,  for  all  work 
was  prohibited,  and  the  people  were  gathered  in  their  churches. 
Rome  never  appeared  so  desolate  and  melancholy  as  to-day. 

In  the  morninor  I  climbed  the  Quirinal  Hill,  now  called  Monte 
Cavallo,  from  the  colossal  statues  of  Castor  and  Pollux,  with  their 
steeds,  supposed  to  be  the  work  of  Phidias  and  Praxiteles.    They 


326  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


stand  on  each  side  of  an  obelisk  of  Egyptian  granite,  beside  which 
a  strong  stream  of  water  gushes  up  into  a  magnificent  bronze 
basin,  found  in  the  old  Forum.  The  statues,  entirely  browned  by 
age,  are  considered  masterpieces  of  Grecian  art,  and  whether 
or  not  from  the  great  masters,  show  in  all  their  proportions,  the 
conceptions  of  lofty  genius. 

We  kept  on  our  way  between  gardens  filled  with  orange  groves, 
whose  glowing  fruit  reminded  me  of  Mignon's  beautiful  reminis- 
cence— "  Im  dunkeln  Laub  die  Gold  Orangen  gliihn  !"  Rome, 
although  subject  to  cold  winds  from  the  Appenines,  enjoys  so 
mild  a  climate  that  oranges  and  palm  trees  grow  in  the  open  air, 
without  protection.  Daisies  and  violets  bloom  the  whole  winter, 
in  the  meadows  of  never-fading  green.  The  basilic  of  the  Lat- 
eran  equals  St.  Peter's  in  splendor,  though  its  size  is  much  small- 
er. The  walls  are  covered  with  gorgeous  hangings  of  velvet 
embroidered  with  gold,  and  before  the  high  altar,  which  glitters 
with  precious  stones,  are  four  pillars  of  gilt  bronze,  said  to  be 
those  which  Augustus  made  of  the  spars  of  Egyptian  vessels 
captured  at  the  battle  of  Actium. 

We  descended  the  hill  to  the  Coliseum,  and  passing  under  the 
Arch  of  Constantine,  walked  along  the  ancient  triumphal  way,  at 
the  foot  of  the  Palatine  Hill,  which  is  entirely  covered  with  the 
ruins  of  the  Csesars'  Palace.  A  road,  rounding  its  southern  base 
towards  the  Tiber,  brought  us  to  the  Temple  of  Vesta — a  beau- 
tiful little  relic  which  has  been  singularly  spared  by  the  devasta- 
tions that  have  overthrown  so  many  mightier  fabrics.  It  is  of 
circular  form,  surrounded  by  nineteen  Corinthian  columns,  thir- 
ty-six feet  in  height ;  a  clumsy  tiled  roof  now  takes  the  place  of 
the  elegant  cornice  which  once  gave  the  crowning  charm  to  its 
perfect  proportions.  Close  at  hand  are  the  remains  of  the  temple 
of  Fortuna  Virilis,  of  which  some  Ionic  pillars  alone  are  left,  and 
the  house  of  Cola  di  Rienzi — the  last  Tribune  of  Rome. 

As  we  approached  the  walls,  the  sepulchre  of  Caius  Cestius 
came  in  sight — a  single  solid  pyramid,  one  hundred  feet  in  height. 
The  walls  are  built  against  it,  and  the  light  apex  rises  far  above 
the  massive  gate  beside  it,  which  was  erected  by  Belisarius.  But 
there  were  other  tombs  at  hand,  for  which  we  had  more  sympa- 


GRAVES   OF  SHELLEY  AND  KEATS.  327 

thy  than  that  of  the  forgotten  Roman,  and  we  turned  away  to 
look,  for  the  graves  of  Shelley  and  Keats. 

They  lie  in  the  Protestant  burying  ground,  on  the  side  of  a 
mound  that  slopes  gently  up  to  the  old  wall  of  Rome,  beside  the 
pyramid  of  Cestius.  The  meadow  around  is  still  verdant  and 
sown  thick  with  daisies,  and  the  soft  green  of  the  Italian  pine 
mingles  with  the  dark  cypress  above  the  slumberers.  Huge 
aloes  grow  in  the  shade,  and  the  sweet  bay  and  bushes  of  rose- 
mary make  the  air  fresh  and  fragrant.  There  is  a  solemn, 
mournful  beauty  about  the  place,  green  and  lonely  as  it  is,  beside 
the  tottering  walls  of  ancient  Rome,  that  takes  away  the  gloomy 
associations  of  death,  and  makes  one  wish  to  lie  there,  too,  when 
his  thread  shall  be  spun  to  the  end. 

We  found  first  the  simple  head-stone  of  Keats,  alone,  in  the 
grassy  meadow.  Its  inscription  states  that  on  his  death-bed,  in 
the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  at  the  malice  of  his  enemies,  he  de- 
sired these  words  to  be  written  on  his  tombstone  :  '^'^  Here  lies  one 
whose  name  was  written  in  water.^^  Not  far  from  him  reposes  the 
son  of  Shelley. 

Shelley  himself  lies  at  the  top  of  the  shaded  slope,  in  a  lonely 
spot  by  the  wall,  surrounded  by  tall  cypresses.  A  little  hedge 
of  rose  and  bay  surrounds  his  grave,  which  bears  the  simple  in- 
scription— "  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  ;   Cor  Cordium." 

"  Nothing  of  him  that  cloth  fade, 
But  doth  suflPer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange." 

Glorious,  but  misguided  Shelley  !  He  sleeps  calmly  now  in 
that  silent  nook,  and  the  air  around  his  grave  is  filled  with  siorhs 
from  those  who  mourn  that  the  bright,  erratic  star  should  have 
been  blotted  out  ere  it  reached  the  zenith  of  its  mountinor  fame. 
I  plucked  a  leaf  from  the  fragrant  bay,  as  a  token  of  his  fame, 
and  a  sprig  of  cypress  from  the  bough  that  bent  lowest  over  his 
grave  ;  and  passing  between  tombs  shaded  with  blooming  roses 
or  covered  with  unwithered  garlands,  left  the  lovely  spot. 

Amid  the  excitement  of  continually  changing  scenes,  I  have 
forgotten  to  mention  our  first  visit  to  the  Coliseum.     The  day 


328  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


after  our  arrival  we  set  out  v/ith  two  English  friends,  to  see  it  by 
sunset.  Passing  by  the  glorious  fountain  of  Trevi,  we  made  our 
way  to  the  Forum,  and  from  thence  took  the  road  to  the  Coliseum, 
lined  on  both  sides  with  the  remains  of  splendid  edifices.  The 
grass-grown  ruins  of  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars  stretched  along  on 
our  right ;  on  our  left  we  passed  in  succession  the  granite  front 
of  the  Temple  of  Antoninus  and  Faustina,  the  three  grand  arches 
of  the  Temple  of  Peace  and  the  ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Venus 
and  Rome.  We  went  under  the  ruined  triumphal  arch  of  Titus, 
with  broken  friezes  representing  the  taking  of  Jerusalem,  and  the 
mighty  walls  of  the  Coliseum  gradually  rose  before  us.  They 
grew  in  grandeur  as  we  approached  them,  and  when  at  length  we 
stood  in  the  centre,  with  the  shattered  arches  and  grassy  walls 
rising  above  and  beyond  one  another,  far  around  us,  the  red  light 
of  sunset  giving  them  a  soft  and  melancholy  beauty,  I  was  fain 
to  confess  that  another  form  of  grandeur  had  entered  my  mind, 
of  which  I  before  knew  not. 

A  majesty  like  that  of  nature  clothes  this  wonderful  edifice. 
Walls  rise  above  walls,  and  arches  above  arches,  from  every  side 
of  the  grand  arena,  like  a  sweep  of  craggy,  pinnacled  mountains 
around  an  oval  lake.  The  two  outer  circles  have  almost  entirely 
disappeared,  torn  away  by  the  rapacious  nobles  of  Rome,  during 
the  middle  ages,  to  build  their  palaces.  When  entire,  and  filled 
with  its  hundred  thousand  spectators,  it  must  have  exceeded  any 
pageant  which  the  world  can  now  produce.  No  wonder  it  was 
said — 

"  While  stands  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  stand  ; 
When  falls  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  fall; 
And  when  Rome  falls,  the  world  !" 

— a  prediction,  which  time  has  not  verified.  The  world  is  now 
going  forward,  prouder  than  ever,  and  though  we  thank  Rome 
for  the  legacy  she  has  left  us,  we  would  not  wish  the  dust  of  her 
ruin  to  cumber  our  path. 

While  standing  in  the  arena,  impressed  with  the  spirit  of  the 
scene  around  me,  which  grew  more  spectral  and  melancholy  as 
the  dusk  of  evening  began  to  fill  up  the  broken  arches,  my  eye 
was  assailed  by  the  shrines  ranged  around  the  space,  doubtless  to 


THE   RUINS   OF  ROME.  329 

remove  the  pollution  of  paganism.  In  the  middle  stands  also  a 
cross,  with  an  inscription,  granting  an  absolution  of  forty  days  to 
all  who  kiss  it.  Now,  although  a  simple  cross  in  the  centre  might 
be  very  appropriate,  both  as  a  token  of  the  heroic  devotion  of  the 
martyr  Telemachus  and  the  triumph  of  a  true  religion  over  the 
barbarities  of  the  Past,  this  congregation  of  shrines  and  bloody 
pictures  mars  very  much  the  unity  of  association  so  necessary  to 
the  perfect  enjoyment  of  any  such  scene. 

We  saw  the  flush  of  sunset  fade  behind  the  Capitoline  Hill, 
and  passed  homeward  by  the  Forum,  as  its  shattered  pillars  were 
growing  solemn  and  spectral  through  the  twilight.  I  intend  to 
visit  them  often  again,  and  "  meditate  amongst  decay."  I  begin 
already  to  grow  attached  to  their  lonely  grandeur.  A  spirit,  al- 
most human,  speaks  from  the  desolation,  and  there  is  something 
in  the  voiceless  oracles  it  utters,  that  strikes  an  answering  chord 
in  my  own  breast. 

In  the  Via  de^  Poniefici,  not  far  distant  fiom  the  Borghese  Pa- 
lace, we  saw  the  Mausoleum  of  Augustus.  It  is  a  large  circular 
structure  somewhat  after  the  plan  of  that  of  Hadrian,  but  on  a 
much  smaller  scale.  The  interior  has  been  cleared  out,  seats 
erected  around  the  walls,  and  the  whole  is  now  a  summer  theatre, 
for  the  amusement  of  the  peasantry  and  tradesmen.  What  a  com- 
mentary on  greatness !  Harlequin  playing  his  pranks  in  the 
tomb  of  an  Emperor,  and  the  spot  which  nations  approached  with 
reverence,  resoundinsr  with   the  mirth  of  beggrars  and  des^raded 

'  O  Do  O 

vassals ! 

I  visited  lately  the  studio  of  a  young  Philadelphian,  Mr.  W. 
B.  Chambers,  who  has  been  here  two  or  three  years.  In  study- 
ing the  legacies  of  art  which  the  old  masters  left  to  their  coun- 

o  o 

try,  he  has  caught  some  of  the  genuine  poetic  inspiration  which 
warmed  them.  But  he  is  modest  as  talented,  and  appears  to  un- 
dervalue  his  works,  so  long  as  they  do  not  reach  his  own  mental 
ideal.  He  chooses  principally  subjects  from  the  Italian  peasant- 
life,  which  abounds  with  picturesque  and  classic  beauty.  His 
pictures  of  the  shepherd  boy  of  the  Albruzzi,  and  the  brown 
maidens  of  the  Campagna  are  fine  illustrations  of  this  class,  and 
the  fidelity  with  which  he  copies  nature,  is  an  earnest  of  his  fu- 
ture success. 


*?30  VIEWS  A-FOOT 


I  was  in  the  studio  of  Crawford,  the  sculptor ;  he  has  at  pre- 
sent nothing  finished  in  the  marble.  There  were  many  casts  of 
his  former  works,  which,  judging  from  their  appearance  in  plas- 
ter, must  be  of  no  common  excellence — for  the  sculptor  can  only 
be  justly  judged  in  marile.  I  saw  some  fine  bas-reliefs  of  classi- 
cal subjects,  and  an  exquisite  group  of  Mercury  and  Psyche,  but 
his  masterpiece  is  undoubtedly  the  Orpheus.  There  is  a  spirit 
in  this  figure  which  astonished  me.  The  face  is  full  of  the  inspi- 
ration of  the  poet,  softened  by  the  lover's  tenderness,  and  the 
whole  fervor  of  his  soul  is  expressed  in  the  eagerness  with  which 
he  gazes  forward,  on  stepping  past  the  sleeping  Cerberus.  Craw- 
ford is  now  engaged  on  the  statue  of  an  Indian  girl,  pierced  by 
an  arrow,  and  dying.  It  is  a  simple  and  touching  figure,  and 
will,  I  think,  be  one  of  his  best  works. 

We  are  often  amused  with  the  groups  in  the  square  of  the  Pan- 
theon, which  we  can  see  from  our  chamber-window.     Shoemakers 
and  tinkers  carry  on  their  business  along  the   sunny  side,  while 
the  venders  of  oranges  and  roasted  chesnuts  form  a  circle  around 
the  Egyptian  obelisk  and  fountain.     Across  the  end  of  an  opposite 
street  we  get  a  glimpse  of  the  vegetable-market,  and  now  and  then 
the  shrill  voice  of  a  pedlar  makes  its  nasal  solo  audible  above  the 
confused  chorus.     As  the  beggars  choose  the  Corso,  St.  Peter's, 
and  the  ruins  for  their  principal  haunts,  we  are  now  spared  the 
hearing  of  their  lamentations.     Every  time  we  go  out  we  are  as- 
sailed with  them.     ^' Maladetta  sia  la  vostra  testa  f^' — "Curses 
be  upon  your  head  !" — said  one  whom  I  passed   without  notice. 
The  priests  are,  however,  the  greatest  beggars.     In  every  church 
are  kept  offering  boxes,  for  the  support  of  the  church  or  some  un- 
known institution  ;  they  even  go  from  house  to  house,  imploring 
support  and  assistance  in  the  name  of  the  Virgin  and  all  the  saints, 
while  their  bloated,  sensual  countenances  and  capacious  frames 
tell  of  anything  but  fasts  and  privations.     Once,  as  I  was  sitting 
among  the  ruins,  I  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  loud,  rattling  sound  ; 
turning  my  head.  I  saw  a  figure  clothed  in  white  from  head  to 
foot,  with  only  two  small  holes  for  the  eyes.     He  held  in  his  hand 
a  money-box,  on  which  was  a  figure  of  the  Virgin,  which  he  held 
close  to  my  lips,  that  I  might  kiss  it.     This  I  declined  doing,  but 


A  ROMAN  INN.  331 


dropped  a  baiocco  into  his  box,  when,  making  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  he  silently  disappeared. 

Our  present  lodging  (Trattoria  del  Sole)  is  a  good  specimen  of 
an  Italian  inn  for  mechanics  and  common  tradesmen.  Passing 
through  the  front  room,  which  is  an  eating-place  for  the  common 
people — with  a  barrel  of  wine  in  the  corner,  and  bladders  of  lard 
hanging  among  orange  boughs  in  the  window — we  enter  a  dark 
court-yard  filled  with  heavy  carts,  and  noisy  with  the  neighing  of 
horses  and  singing  of  grooms,  for  the  stables  occupy  part  of  the 
house.  An  open  staircase,  running  all  around  this  hollow  square, 
leads  to  the  second,  third,  and  fourth  stories. 

On  the  second  story  is  the  dining-room  for  the  better  class  of 
travelers,  who  receive  the  same  provisions  as  those  below  for 
double  the  price,  and  the  additional  privilege  of  giving  the  waiter 
two  baiocchi.  The  sleeping  apartments  are  in  the  fourth  story, 
and  are  named  according  to  the  fancy  of  a  former  landlord,  in 
mottos  above  each  door.  Thus,  on  arriving  here,  the  Triester, 
with  his  wife  and  child,  more  fortunate  than  our  first  parents,  took 
refuge  in  "  Paradise,"  while  we  Americans  were  ushered  into  the 
"Chamber  of  Jove."  We  have  occupied  it  ever  since,  and  find 
a  paul  (ten  cents)  apiece  cheap  enough  for  a  good  bed  and  a  win- 
dow opening  on  the  Pantheon. 

Next  to  the  Coliseum,  the  baths  of  Caracalla  are  the  grandest 
remains  of  Rome.  The  building  is  a  thousand  feet  square,  and 
its  massive  walls  look  as  if  built  by  a  race  of  giants.  These 
Titan  remains  are  covered  with  green  shrubbery,  and  long,  trail- 
ing vines  sweep  over  the  cornice,  and  wave  down  like  tresses 
from  architrave  and  arch.  In  some  of  its  grand  halls  the  mosaic 
pavement  is  yet  entire.  The  excavations  are  still  carried  on  ; 
from  the  number  of  statues  already  found,  this  would  seem  to 
have  been  one  of  the  most  gorgeous  edifices  of  the  olden  time. 

I  have  been  now  several  days  loitering  and  sketching  among 
the  ruins,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  could  willingly  wander  for  months  be- 
side these  mournful  relics,  and  draw  inspiration  from  the  lofty 
yet  melancholy  lore  they  teach.  There  is  a  spirit  haunting  them, 
real  and  undoubted.  Every  shattered  column,  every  broken 
arch  and  mouldering  wall,  but  calls  up  more  vividly  to  mind  the 
glory  that  has  passed  away.     Each  lonely  pillar  stands  as  proudly 


332  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


as  if  it  still  helped  to  bear  up  the  front  of  a  glorious  temple,  and 
the  air  seems  scarcely  to  have  ceased  vibrating  with  the  clarions 
that  heralded  a  conqueror's  triumph. 

■' the  old  majestic  trees 


Stand  ghost-like  in  the  Coesar's  home, 

As  if  their  conscious  roots  were  set 
In  the  old  graves  of  giant  Rome, 

And  drew  their  sap  all  kingly  yet !" 

.A£.  M,  ^^  .A{>  >k* 

•TT  '7V'  "TT  -Tr  T^ 

"  There  every  mouldering  stone  beneath 

Is  broken  from  some  mighty  thought, 
And  sculptures  in  the  dust  still  breathe 

The  fire  with  which  their  lines  were  wrought. 
And  sunder'd  arch  and  plundered  tomb 
Still  thunder  back  the  echo — '  RomeP  " 

In  Rome  there  is  no  need  that  the  imagination  be  excited  to 
call  up  thrilling  emotion  or  poetic  reverie — they  are  forced  on 
the  mind  by  the  sublime  spirit  of  the  scene.  The  roused  bard 
might  here  pour  forth  his  thoughts  in  the  wildest  climaces,  and  I 
could  believe  he  felt  it  all.  This  is  like  the  Italy  of  my  dreams 
— that  golden  realm  whose  image  has  been  nearly  chased  away 
by  the  earthly  reality.  I  expected  to  find  a  land  of  light  and 
beauty,  where  every  step  crushed  a  flower  or  displaced  a  sun- 
beam— whose  very  air  was  poetic  inspiration,  and  whose  every 
scene  filled  the  soul  with  romantic  feelings.  Nothing  is  left  of 
my  picture  but  the  far-off  mountains,  robed  in  the  sapphire  veil 
of  the  Ausonian  air,  and  these  ruins,  amid  whose  fallen  glory  sits 
triumphant  the  spirit  of  ancient  song. 

I  have  seen  the  flush  of  morn  and  eve  rest  on  the  Coliseum  ;  I 
have  seen  the  noon-day  sky  framed  in  its  broken  loopholes,  like 
plates  of  polished  sapphire ;  and  last  night,  as  the  moon  has 
grown  into  the  zenith,  I  went  to  view  it  with  her.  Around  the 
Forum  all  was  silent  and  spectral — a  sentinel  challenged  us  at 
the  Arch  of  Titus,  under  which  we  passed  and  along  the  Ccesar's 
wall,  which  lay  in  black  shadow.  Dead  stillness  brooded  around 
the  Coliseum  ;  the  pale,  silvery  lustre  streamed  through  its  arch- 
es, and  over  the  grassy  walls,  giving  them  a  look  of  shadowy 
grandeur  which  day  could  not  bestow.  The  scene  will  remain 
fresh  in  my  memory  forever. 


THE  CAMPAGNA.  333 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

TIVOLI    AND   THE    ROMAN    CAMPAGNA. 

Jan.  9. — A  few  days  ago  we  returned  from  an  excursion  to 
Tivoli,  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  in  Italy.  We  left  the  Eternal 
City  by  the  Gate  of  San  Lorenzo,  and  twenty  minutes  walk 
brought  us  to  the  bare  and  bleak  Campagna,  which  was  spread 
around  us  for  leagues  in  every  direction.  Here  and  there  a 
shepherd-boy  in  his  woolly  coat,  with  his  flock  of  browsing  sheep, 
were  the  only  objects  that  broke  its  desert-like  monotony. 

At  the  fourth  mile  we  crossed  the  rapid  Anio,  the  ancient  Teve- 
rone,  formerly  the  boundary  between  Latium  and  the  Sabine  do- 
minions, and  at  the  tenth,  came  upon  some  fragments  of  the  old 
Tiburtine  way,  formed  of  large  irregular  blocks  of  basaltic  lava. 
A  short  distance  further,  we  saw  across  the  plain  the  ruins  of  the 
bath  of  Agrippa,  built  by  the  side  of  the  Tartarean  Lake.  The 
wind,  blowing  from  it,  bore  us  an  overpowering  smell  of  sulphur ; 
the  waters  of  the  little  river  Solfatara,  which  crosses  the  road, 
are  of  a  milky  blue  color,  and  carry  those  of  the  lake  into  the 
Anio.     A  fragment  of  the  old  brido:e  over  it  still  remains. 

Finding  the  water  quite  warm,  we  determined  to  have  a  bath. 
So  we  ran  down  the  plain,  which  was  covered  with  a  thick  coat 
of  sulphur,  and  sounded  hollow  to  our  tread,  till  we  reached  a 
convenient  place,  where  we  threw  otf  our  clothes,  and  plunged 
in.  The  warm  wave  was  delightful  to  the  skin,  but  extremely 
offensive  to  the  smell,  and  when  we  came  out,  our  mouths  and 
throats  were  filled  with  the  stifling  gas. 

It  was  growing  dark  as  we  mounted  through  the  narrow  streets 
of  Tivoli,  but  we  endeavored  to  gain  some  sight  of  the  renowned 
beauties  of  the  spot,  before  going  to  rest.  From  a  platform  on  a 
brow  of  the  hill,  we  looked  down  into  the  defile,  at  whose  bottom 
the  Anio  was  roaring,  and  caught  a  sideward  glance  of  the  Cas- 


334  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


catelles,  sending  up  their  spray  amid  the  evergreen  bushes  that 
fringe  the  rocks.  Above  the  deep  glen  that  curves  into  the 
mountain,  stands  the  beautiful  temple  ot  the  Sybil — a  building 
of  the  most  perfect  and  graceful  proportion.  It  crests  the  "  rocky 
brow"  like  a  fairy  dwelling,  and  looks  all  the  lovelier  for  the 
wild  caverns  below.  Gazing  downward  from  the  bridge,  one 
sees  the  waters  of  the  Anio  tumbling  into  the  picturesque  grotto 
of  the  Sirens ;  around  a  rugged  corner,  a  cloud  of  white  spray 
v/hirls  up  continually,  while  the  boom  of  a  cataract  rumbles  down 
the  glen.  All  these  we  marked  in  the  deepening  dusk,  and  then 
hunted  an  albergo. 

The  shrill-voiced  hostess  gave  us  a  good  supper  and  cleai 
beds ;  in  return  we  diverted  the  people  ver)  much  by  the  relatioi 
of  our  sulphur  bath.  We  were  awakened  in  the  night  by  tht 
wind  shaking  the  very  soul  out  of  our  loose  casement.  I  fancieo 
I  heard  torrents  of  rain  dashing  against  the  panes,  and  groanea 
in  bitterness  of  spirit  on  thinking  of  a  walk  back  to  Rome  in  such 
weather.  When  morning  came,  we  found  it  was  only  a  hurri- 
cane of  wind  which  was  strong  enough  to  tear  off  pieces  of  the 
old  roofs.  I  saw  some  capuchins  nearly  overturned  in  crossing 
the  square,  by  the  wind  seizing  their  white  robes. 

I  had  my  fingers  frozen  and  my  eyes  filled  with  sand,  in  trying 
to  draw  the  Sybil's  temple,  and  therefore  left  it  to  join  my  com- 
panions, who  had  gone  down  into  the  glen  to  see  the  great  cas- 
cade. The  Anio  bursts  out  of  a  cavern  in  the  mountain-side, 
and  like  a  prisoner  giddy  with  recovered  liberty,  reels  over  the 
edge  of  a  precipice  more  than  two  hundred  feet  deep.  The  bot- 
tom is  hid  in  a  cloud  of  boiling  spray,  that  shifts  from  side  to 
side,  and  driven  by  the  wind,  sweeps  whistling  down  the  narrow 
pass.  It  stuns  the  ear  with  a  perpetual  boom,  giving  a  dash  of 
grandeur  to  the  enrapturing  beauty  of  the  scene.  I  tried  a  foot- 
path that  appeared  to  lead  down  to  the  Cascatelles,  but  after  ad- 
vancing some  distance  along  the  side  of  an  almost  perpendicular 
precipice,  I  came  to  a  corner  that  looked  so  dangerous,  especially 
as  the  wind  was  nearly  strong  enough  to  carry  me  off,  that  it 
seemed  safest  to  return.  We  made  another  vain  attempt  to 
get  down,  by  creeping  along  the  bed  of  a  torrent,  filled  with  bri- 
ars.    The  Cascatelles  are  formed  by  that  part  of  the  Anio,  which 


THE   DYING  GLADIATOR.  335 

is  used  in  the  iron  works,  made  out  of  the  ruins  of  Mecsenas' 
villa.  They  gush  out  from  under  the  ancient  arches,  and  tum- 
ble more  than  a  hundred  feet  down  the  precipice,  their  white 
waters  gleaming  out  from  the  dark  and  feathery  foliage.  Not  far 
distant  are  the  remahis  of  the  villa  of  Horace. 

We  took  the  road  to  Frascati,  and  walked  for  miles  among 
cane-swamps  and  over  plains  covered  with  sheep.  The  people 
we  saw,  were  most  degraded  and  ferocious-looking,  and  there 
were  many  I  would  not  willingly  meet  alone  after  nightfall.  In- 
deed it  is  still  considered  quite  unsafe  to  venture  without  the 
walls  of  Rome,  after  dark.  The  women,  with  their  yellow  com- 
plexions, and  the  bright  red  blankets  they  wear  folded  around  the 
head  and  shoulders,  resemble  Indian  Squaws. 

I  lately  spent  three  hours  in  the  Museum  of  the  Capitol,  on  the 
summit  of  the  sacred  hill.  In  the  hall  of  the  Gladiator  I  noticed 
an  exquisite  statue  of  Diana.  There  is  a  pure,  virgin  grace  in 
the  classic  outlines  of  the  figure  that  keeps  the  eye  long  upon  it. 
The  face  is  full  of  cold,  majestic  dignity,  but  it  is  the  ideal  of  a 
being  to  be  worshipped,  rather  than  loved.  The  Faun  of  Praxi- 
teles, in  the  same  room,  is  a  glorious  work ;  it  is  the  perfect  em- 
bodiment of  that  wild,  merry  race  the  Grecian  poets  dreamed  of. 
One  looks  on  the  Gladiator  with  a  hushed  breath  and  an  awed 
spirit.  He  is  dying ;  the  blood  flows  more  slowly  from  the  deep 
wound  in  his  side  ;  his  head  is  sinking  downwards,  and  the  arm 
that  supports  his  body  becomes  more  and  more  nerveless.  You 
feel  that  a  dull  mist  is  coming  over  his  vision,  and  almost  wait  to 
see  his  relaxing  limbs  sink  suddenly  on  his  shield.  That  the  rude, 
barbarian  form  has  a  soul,  may  be  read  in  his  touchingly  ex- 
pressive countenance.  It  warms  the  sympathies  like  reality  to 
look  upon  it.  Yet  how  maviy  Romans  may  have  gazed  on  this 
work,  moved  nearly  to  tears,  who  have  seen  hundreds  perish  in 
the  arena  without  a  pitying  emotion  !  Why  is  it  that  Art  has  a 
voice  frequently  more  powerful  than  Nature  ? 

How  cold  it  is  here  !  I  was  forced  to  run  home  to-night,  nearly 
at  full  speed,  from  the  Cafe  delle  Belle  Arti  through  the  Corso 
and  the  Piazza  Colonna,  to  keep  warm.  The  clear,  frosty  moon 
threw  the  shadow  of  the  column  of  Antoninus  over  me  as  I  passed, 
and  it  made  me  shiver  to  look  at  the  thin,   falling  sheet  of  the 


336  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


fountain.  Winter  is  winter  everywhere,  and  even  the  sun  of 
Italy  cannot  always  scorch  his  icy  wings. 

Two  days  ago  we  took  a  ramble  outside  the  walls.  Passing 
the  Coliseum  and  Caracalla's  Baths,  we  reached  the  tomb  of  Sci- 
pio,  a  small  sepulchral  vault,  near  the  roadside.  The  ashes  of 
the  warrior  were  scattered  to  the  winds  long  ago,  and  his  mauso- 
leum is  fast  falling  to  decay.  The  old  arch  over  the  Appian  way 
is  still  standing,  near  the  modern  Porta  San  Sehastiano  through 
which  we  entered  on  the  far-famed  road.  Here  and  there  it  is 
quite  entire,  and  we  walked  over  the  stones  once  worn  by  the  feet 
of  Virgil  and  Horace  and  Cicero.  After  passing  the  temple  of 
Romulus — a  shapeless  and  ivy-grown  ruin — and  walking  a  mile 
or  more  beyond  the  walls,  we  reached  the  Circus  of  Caracalla, 
whose  long  and  shattered  walls  fill  the  hollow  of  one  of  the  little 
dells  of  the  Campagna.  The  original  structure  must  have  been 
of  great  size  and  splendor,  but  those  twin  Vandals — Time  and 
Avarice — have  stripped  away  everything  but  the  lofty  brick 
masses,  whose  nakedness  the  pitying  ivy  strives  to  cover. 

Further,  on  a  gentle  slope,  is  the  tomb  of  "  the  wealthiest  Ro- 
man's wife,"  familiar  to  every  one  through  Childe  Harold's 
musings.  It  is  a  round,  massive  tower,  faced  with  large  blocks  of 
marble,  and  still  bearing  the  name  of  Cecilia  Metella.  One  side 
is  much  ruined,  and  the  top  is  overgrown  with  grass  and  wild 
bushes.  The  wall  is  about  thirty  feet  thick,  so  that  but  a  small 
round  space  is  left  in  the  interior,  which  is  open  to  the  rain  and 
filled  with  rubbish.  The  echoes  pronounced  hollowly  after  us 
the  name  of  the  dead  for  whom  it  was  built,  but  thev  could  tell 
us  nothing  of  her  life's  history — 

"  How  lived,  how  loved,  how  died  she  ?" 

I  made  a  hunied  drawing  of  it.  and  we  then  turned  to  the  left, 
across  the  Campagna,  to  seek  the  grotto  of  Egeria.  Before  us, 
across  the  brown  plain,  extended  the  Sabine  Mountains ;  in  the 
clear  air  the  houses  of  Tivoli,  twenty  miles  distant,  were  plainly 
visible.  The  giant  aqueduct  stretched  in  a  long  line  across  the 
Campagna  to  the  mountain  of  Albano,  its  broken  and  disjointed 
arches  resembling  the  vertebra3  of  some  miglity  monster.     With 


GROTTO   OF   EGERIA.  337 


the  ruins  of  temples  and  tombs  strewing  the  plain  for  miles  around 
it,  it  might  be  called  the  spine  to  the  skeleton  of  Rome. 

We  passed  many  ruins,  made  beautiful  by  the  clinging  ivy, 
and  reached  a  solemn  grove  of  ever-green  oak,  overlooking  a  se- 
cluded valley.  I  was  soon  in  the  meadow,  leaping  ditches,  rust- 
ling through  cane-brakes,  and  climbing  up  to  mossy  arches  to  find 
out  the  fountain  of  Numa's  nymph  ;  while  my  companion,  who 
had  less  taste  for  the  romantic,  looked  on  complacently  from  the 
leeward  side  of  the  hill.  At  length  we  found  an  arched  vault  in 
the  hill-side,  overhung  with  wild  vines,  and  shaded  in  summer  by 
umbrageous  trees  that  grow  on  the  soil  above.  At  the  further 
end  a  stream  of  water  gushed  out  from  beneath  a  broken  statue, 
and  an  aperture  in  the  wall  revealed  a  dark  cavern  behind.  This, 
then,  was  "  Egeria's  grot."  The  ground  was  trampled  by  the 
feet  of  cattle,  and  the  taste  of  the  water  was  anything  but  plea- 
sant. But  it  was  not  for  Numa  and  his  nymph  alone,  that  I 
sought  it  so  ardently.  The  sunbeam  of  another  mind  lingers  on 
the  spot.     See  how  it  gilds  the  ruined  and  neglected  fount ' 

"  The  mosses  of  tliy  fountain  still  are  sprinkled 

With  thine  Elysian  water-drops ;  the  face 
Of  thy  cave-guarded  spring,  with  years  unwrinkled. 

Reflects  the  meek-eyed  genius  of  the  place, 
Whose  wild,  green  margin,  now  no  more  erase 

Art's  works  ;  no  more  its  sparkling  waters  sleep, 
Prisoned  in  marble ;  bubbling  from  the  base 

Of  the  cleft  statue,  with  a  gentle  leap, 
The  rill  runs  o'er,  and  'round,  fern,  flowers  and  ivy  creep, 

Fantastically  tangled." 

I  tried  to  creep  into  the  grotto,  but  it  was  unpleasantly  dark, 
and  no  nymph  appeared  to  chase  away  the  shadow  with  her  lus- 
trous eyes.  The  whole  hill  is  pierced  by  subterranean  cham- 
bers and  passages. 

I  spent  another  Sunday  morning  in  St.  Peter's.  High  mas 
was  being  celebrated  in  one  of  the  side  Chapels,  and  a  great  num- 
ber of  the  priesthood  were  present.  The  music  was  simple,  sol- 
emn, and  very  impressive,  and  a  fine  effect  was  produced  by  the 
combination  of  the  full,  sonorous  voices  of  the  priests,  and  the 
divine  sweetness  of  that  band  of  mutilated  unfortunates,  who  sing 

16 


338  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


here.  They  sang  with  a  full,  clear  tone,  sweet  as  the  first  lisp- 
ings  of  a  child,  but  it  was  painful  to  hear  that  melody,  purchased 
at  the  expense  of  manhood. 

Near  the  dome  is  a  bronze  statue  of  St.  Peter,  which  seems  to 
have  a  peculiar  atmosphere  of  sanctity.  People  say  their  prayers 
before  it  by  hundreds,  and  then  kiss  its  toe,  which  is  nearly  worn 
away  by  the  application  of  so  many  thousand  lips.  I  saw  a 
crowd  struggle  most  irreverently  to  pay  their  devotion  to  it. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  jostling  and  confusion  ;  some  went  so 
far  as  to  thrust  the  faces  of  others  against  the  toe  as  they  were 
about  to  kiss  it.  What  is  more  remarkable,  it  is  an  antique  statue 
of  Jupiter,  taken,  I  believe,  t'l'om  the  Pantheon.  An  English  ar- 
tist, showing  it  to  a  friend,  just  arrived  in  Rome,  remarked  very 
wittily  that  it  was  the  statue  of  Jew-Peter. 

I  went  afterwards  to  the  Villa  Borghese,  outside  the  Porta  del 
Popolo.  The  gardens  occupy  thirty  or  forty  acres,  and  are  al- 
ways thronged  in  the  afternoon  with  the  carriages  of  the  Roman 
and  foreign  nobility.  In  summer,  it  must  be  a  heavenly  place  ; 
even  now,  with  its  musical  fountams,  long  avenues,  and  grassy 
slopes,  crowned  with  the  fan-like  branches  of  the  Italian  pine,  it 
reminds  one  of  the  fairy  landscapes  of  Boccaccio.  We  threaded 
our  way  through  the  press  of  carriages  on  the  Pincian  hill,  and 
saw  the  enormous  bulk  of  St.  Peter's  loom  up  against  the  sunset 
sky.  I  counted  forty  domes  and  spires  in  that  part  of  Rome 
that  lay  below  us — but  on  what  a  marble  glory  looked  that  sun 
eighteen  centuries  ago!  Modern  Rome — it  is  in  comparison,  a 
den  of  filth,  cheats  and  beggars  ! 

Yesterday,  while  taking  a  random  stroll  through  the  city,  I 
visited  the  church  of  St.  Onofrio,  where  Tasso  is  buried.  It  is 
not  far  from  St.  Peter's,  on  the  summit  of  a  lonely  hill.  The 
building  was  closed,  but  an  old  monk  admitted  us  on  application. 
The  interior  is  quite  small,  but  very  old,  and  the  floor  is  covered 
with  the  tombs  of  princes  and  prelates  of  a  past  century.  Near 
the  end  I  found  a  small  slab  with  the  inscription : 

"  TORQUATI    TASSl 

OSSA 

HIC   JACENT." 


THE  AMERICAN   CONSUL.  339 

That  was  all — but  what  more  was  needed  ?  Who  knows  not  the 
name  and  fame  and  sufferings  of  the  glorious  bard  ?  The  pomp 
of  gold  and  marble  are  not  needed  to  deck  the  slumber  of  genius. 
On  the  wall,  above,  hangs  an  old  and  authentic  portrait  of  him, 
very  similar  to  the  engravings  in  circulation.  A  crown  of  laurel 
encircles  the  lofty  brow,  and  the  eye  has  that  wild,  mournful  ex- 
pression, which  accords  so  well  with  the  mysterious  tale  of  his 
love  and  madness. 

Owing  to  the  mountain  storms,  which  imposed  on  us  the  ex- 
pense of  a  carriage-journey  to  Rome,  we  shall  be  prevented  from 
going  further.  One  great  cause  of  this  is  the  heavy  fee  required 
for  passports  in  Italy.  In  most  of  the  Italian  cities,  the  cost  of 
the  different  vises  amounts  to  84  or  85 ;  a  few  such  visits  as 
these  reduce  our  funds  very  materially.  The  American  Con- 
sul's fee  is  82,  owing  to  the  illiberal  course  of  our  government, 
in  withholding  all  salary  from  her  Consuls  in  Europe.  Mr. 
Brown,  however,  in  whose  family  we  spent  last  evening  very 
pleasantly,  on  our  requesting  that  he  would  deduct  something 
from  the  usual  fee,  kindly  declined  accepting  anything.  We  felt 
this  kindness  the  more,  as  from  the  character  which  some  of  our 
late  Consuls  bear  in  Italy,  we  had  not  anticipated  it.  We  shall 
remember  him  with  deeper  gratitude  than  many  would  suppose, 
who  have  never  known  what  it  was  to  be  a  foreigner. 

To-morrow,  therefore,  we  leave  Rome — here  is,  at  last,  the 
limit  of  our  wanderings.  We  have  spent  much  toil  and  privation 
to  reach  here,  and  now,  after  two  weeks'  rambling  and  musing 
among  the  mighty  relics  of  past  glory,  we  turn  our  faces  home- 
ward. The  thrilling  hope  I  cherished  during  the  whole  pilgrim- 
age— to  climb  Parnassus  and  drink  from  Castaly,  under  the  blue 
heaven  of  Greece  (both  far  easier  than  the  steep  hill  and  hidden 
fount  of  poesy,  I  worship  afar  off) — to  sigh  for  fallen  art,  beneath 
the  broken  friezes  of  the  Parthenon,  and  look  with  a  pilgrim's 
eye  on  the  isles  of  Homer  and  of  Sappho — must  be  given  up,  un- 
willingly and  sorrowfully  though  it  be.  These  glorious  antici- 
pations— among  the  brightest  that  blessed  my  boyhood — are 
slowly  wrung  from  me  by  stern  necessity.  Even  Naples,  the 
lovely  Parthenope,  where  the  Mantuan  bard  sleeps  on  the  sunny 
shore,  by  the  bluest  of  summer  seas,  with  the  disinti^rred  Pompeii 


340  VIEWS   A-FOOT 


beyond,  and  Psestum  amid  its  roses  on  the  lonely  Calabrian  plain 
— even  this,  almost  within  sight  of  the  cross  of  St.  Peter's,  is 
barred  from  me.  Farewell  then,  clime  of  "  fame  and  eld,"  since 
it  must  be  !  A  pilgrim's  blessing  for  the  lore  ye  have  taught 
him ! 


SHORE   OF   THE   MEDITERRANEAN.  341 


I 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

Paio. — The  sea  is  breaking  in  long  swells  below  the  window, 
and  a  glorious  planet  shines  in  the  place  of  the  sunset  that  has  died 
away.  This  is  our  first  resting-place  since  leaving  Rome.  ^V^e 
have  been  walking  all  day  over  the  bare  and  dreary  Campagna, 
and  it  is  a  relief  to  look  at  last  on  the  broad,  blue  expanse  of  the 
Tyrrhene  Sea. 

When  we  emerged  from  the  cool  alleys  of  Rome,  and  began  to 
climb  up  and  down  the  long,  barren  swells,  the  sun  beat  down 
on  us  with  an  almost  summer  heat.  On  crossing  a  ridge  near 
Castel  Guido,  we  took  our  last  look  of  Rome,  and  saw  from  the 
other  side  the  sunshine  lying  like  a  dazzling  belt  on  the  far  Med- 
iterranean. The  country  is  one  of  the  most  wretched  that  can 
be  imagined.  Miles  and  miles  of  uncultivated  land,  with  scarcely 
a  single  habitation,  extend  on  either  side  of  the  road,  and  the 
few  shepherds  who  watch  their  flocks  in  the  marshy  hollows,  look 
wild  and  savage  enough  for  any  kind  of  crime.  It  made  me 
shudder  to  see  every  face  bearing  such  a  villainous  stamp. 

Civita  Vecchia,  Jan.  11. — We  left  Palo  just  after  sunrise,  and 
walked  in  the  cool  of  the  morning  beside  the  blue  Mediterranean. 
On  the  right,  the  low  outposts  of  the  Appenines  rose,  bleak  and 
brown,  the  narrow  plain  between  them  and  the  shore  resembling 
a  desert,  so  destitute  was  it  of  the  signs  of  civilized  life.  A  low, 
white  cloud  that  hung  over  the  sea,  afar  off,  showed  us  the  locality 
of  Sardinia,  though  the  land  was  not  visible.  The  sun  shone 
down  warmly,  and  with  the  blue  sky  and  bluer  sea  we  could 
easily  have  imagined  a  milder  season.  The  barren  scenery  took 
a  new  interest  in  my  eyes,  when  I  remembered  that  I  was  spend- 
ing amidst  it  that  birth-day  which  removes  me,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  from  dependant  youth  to  responsible  manhood. 

In  the  afternoon  we  found  a  beautiful  cove  in  a  curve  of  the 
shore,  and  went  to  bathe  in  the  cold  surf.     It  was  very  refresh- 


342  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


ing,  but  not  quite  equal  to  the  sulphur-bath  on  the  road  to  Tivoli. 
The  mountains  now  ran  closer  to  the  sea,  and  the  road  was  bor- 
dered with  thickets  of  myrtle.  I  stopped  often  to  beat  my  staff 
into  the  bushes,  and  inhale  the  fragrance  that  arose  from  their 
crushed  leaves.  The  hills  were  covered  with  this  poetical  shrub, 
and  any  acre  of  the  ground  would  make  the  fortune  of  a  florist  at 
nome. 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  a  sky  of  orange  and  rose,  as  Civita 
Vecchia  came  in  sight  on  a  long  headland  before  us.  Beyond 
the  sea  stretched  the  dim  hills  of  Corsica.  We  walked  nearly  an 
hour  in  the  clear  moonlight,  by  the  sounding  shore,  before  the 
gate  of  the  city  was  reached.  We  have  found  a  tolerable  inn, 
and  are  now  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  supper  and  rest. 

Marseilles,  Jan.  16. — At  length  we  tread  the  shore  of  France 
— of  sunny  Provence — the  last  unvisited  realm  we.  have  to  roam 
through  before  returnino-  home.  It  is  with  a  feeling  of  more  than 
common  relief  that  we  see  around  us  the  lively  faces  and  hear 
the  glib  tongues  of  the  French.  It  is  like  an  earnest  that  the 
"  roughing"  we  have  undergone  among  Bohemian  boors  and 
Italian  savages  is  well  nigh  finished,  and  that,  henceforth,  we 
shall  find  civilized  sympathy  and  politeness,  if  nothing  more,  to 
make  the  way  smoother.  Perhaps  the  three  woful  days  which 
terminated  at  half-past  two  yesterday  afternoon,  as  we  passed 
through  the  narrow  strait  into  the  beautiful  harbor  which  Mar- 
seilles encloses  in  her  sheltering  heart,  make  it  still  pleas- 
anter.  Now,  while  there  is  time,  I  must  describe  those  three 
days,  for  who  could  write  on  the  wet  deck  of  a  steamboat,  amid 
all  the  sights  and  smells  which  a  sea  voyage  creates?  Descrip- 
tion does  not  flourish  when  the  bones  are  sore  with  lying  on 
planks,  and  the  body  shivering  like  an  aspen  leaf  with  cold. 

About  the  old  town  of  Civita  Vecchia  there  is  not  much  to  be 
said,  except  that  it  has  the  same  little  harbor  which  Trajan  dug 
for  it,  and  is  as  dirty  and  disagreeable  as  a  town  can  well  be. 
We  saw  nothing  except  a  little  church,  and  the  prison-yard,  full 
of  criminals,  where  the  celebrated  bandit,  Gasparoni,  has  been 
now  confined  for  eig-ht  vears. 

The  Neapolitan  Company's  boat,  Mongibello,  was  advertised 
to  leave  the  12th,  so,  after  procuring  our   3assports,  we  went  to 


aUARREL  WITH  A  BOATMAN.  343 

the  office  to  take  passage.  The  official,  however,  refused  to  give 
us  tickets  for  the  third  place,  because,  forsooth,  we  were  not  ser- 
vants or  common  laborers !  and  words  were  wasted  in  trying  to 
convince  him  that  it  would  make  no  difference.  As  the  second 
cabin  fare  was  nearly  three  times  as  high,  and  entirely  too  dear 
for  us,  we  went  to  the  office  of  the  Tuscan  Company,  whose  boat 
was  to  leave  in  two  days.  Through  the  influence  of  an  Italian 
gentleman,  secretary  to  Bartolini,  the  American  Consul,  whom 
we  met,  they  agreed  to  take  us  for  forty-five  francs,  on  deck,  the 
price  of  the  Neapolitan  boat  being  thirty. 

Rather  than  stay  two  days  longer  in  the  dull  town,  we  went 
again  to  the  latter  Company's  office  and  offered  them  forty-five 
francs  to  go  that  day  in  their  boat.  This  removed  the  former 
scruples,  and  tickets  were  immediately  made  out.  After  a  plen- 
tiful dinner  at  the  albergo,  to  prepare  ourselves  for  the  exposure, 
we  filled  our  pockets  with  a  supply  of  bread,  cheese,  and  figs,  for 
the  voyage.  We  then  engaged  a  boatman,  who  agreed  to  row  us 
out  to  the  steamer  for  two  pauls,  but  after  he  had  us  on  board 
and  an  oar's  length  from  the  quay,  he  said  two  pauls  apiece  was 
his  bargain.  I  instantly  refused,  and,  summoning  the  best  Italian 
I  could  command,  explained  our  agreement ;  but  he  still  persist- 
ed in  demanding  double  price.  The  dispute  soon  drew  a  number 
of  persons  to  the  quay,  some  of  whom,  being  boatmen,  sided  with 
him.  Findinsj  he  had  us  safe  in  his  boat,  his  manner  was  ex- 
ceedingly  calm  and  polite.  He  contradicted  me  with  a  ''  pardon, 
Signore  !"  accompanying  the  words  with  a  low  bow  and  a  grace- 
ful lift  of  his  scarlet  cap,  and  replied  fo  my  indignant  accusations 
in  the  softest  and  most  silvery-modulated  Roman  sentences.  I 
found,  at  last,  that  if  I  was  in  the  right,  I  cut  the  worse  figure  of 
the  two,  and,  therefore,  put  an  end  to  the  dispute  by  desiring  him 
to  row  on  at  his  own  price. 

The  hour  of  starting  was  two,  but  the  boat  lay  quietly  in  the 
harbor  till  four,  when  we  glided  out  on  the  open  sea,  and  went 
northward,  with  the  blue  hills  of  Corsica  far  on  our  left.  A  gor- 
geous sunset  faded  away  over  the  water,  and  the  moon  rose  be- 
hind the  low  mountains  of  the  Italian  coast.  Having  found  a 
warm  and  sheltered  place  near  the  chimney,  I  drew  my  beaver 
further  over  my  eyes,  to  keep  out  the  moonlight,  and  lay  down  on 


344  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  deck  with  my  knapsack  under  my  head.  It  was  a  hard  bed, 
indeed ;  and  the  first  time  I  attempted  to  rise,  I  found  myself 
glued  to  the  floor  by  the  pitch  which  was  smeared  along  the 
seams  of  the  boards  !  Our  fellow-sufferers  were  a  company  of 
Swiss  soldiers  going  home  after  a  four  years'  service  under  the 
King  of  Naples,  but  they  took  to  their  situation  more  easily  than 
we. 

Sleep  was  n-ext  to  impossible,  so  I  paced  the  deck  occasionally 
looking  out  on  the  moonlit  sea  and  the  dim  shores  on  either  side. 
A  little  after  midnight  we  passed  between  Elba  and  Corsica. 
The  dark  crags  of  Elba  rose  on  our  right,  and  the  bold  headlands 
of  Napoleon's  isle  stood  opposite,  at  perhaps  twenty  miles'  dis- 
tance. There  was  something  dreary  and  mysterious  in  the  whole 
scene,  viewed  at  such  a  time — the  grandeur  of  his  career,  who 
was  born  on  one  and  exiled  to  the  other,  gave  it  a  strange  and 
thrillino^  interest. 

We  made  the  light-house  before  the  harbor  of  Leghorn  at  dawn, 
and  by  sunrise  were  anchored  within  the  mole.  I  sat  on  the  deck 
the  whole  day,  watching  the  picturesque  vessels  that  skimmed 
about  with  their  lateen  sails,  and  wondering  how  soon  the  sailors, 
on  the  deck  of  a  Boston  brig  anchored  near  us,  would  see  my 
distant  country.  Leaving  at  four  o'clock,  we  dashed  away,  along 
the  mountain  coast  of  Carrara,  at  a  rapid  rate.  The  wind  was 
strong  and  cold,  but  I  lay  down  behind  the  boiler,  and  though 
the  boards  were  as  hard  as  ever,  slept  two  or  three  hours.  When 
I  awoke  at  half-past  two  in  the  morning,  after  a  short  rest,  Genoa 
was  close  at  hand.  We  glided  between  the  two  revolving  lights 
on  the  mole,  into  the  harbor,  with  the  amphitheatre  on  which  the 
superb  city  sits,  dark  and  silent  around  us.  It  began  raining 
soon,  the  engine-fire  sank  down,  and  as  there  was  no  place  of 
shelter,  we  were  shortly  wet  to  the  skin. 

How  long  those  dreary  hours  seemed,  till  the  dawn  came  !  All 
was  cold  and  rainy  and  dark,  and  we  waited  in  a  kind  of  torpid 
misery  for  daylight.  The  entire  day,  I  passed  sitting  in  a 
coil  of  rope  under  the  stern  of  the  cabin,  and  even  the  beauties 
of  the  glorious  city  scarce  affected  me.  We  lay  opposite  the 
Doria  palace,  and  the  constellation  of  villas  and  towers  still  glit- 
tered along  the  hills ;  but  who,  with   his   teeth  chattering  and 


A  SAILOR'S  SYMPATHY.  345 

limbs  numb  and  damp,  could  feel  pleasure  in  looking  on  Elysium 
itself? 

We  got  under  way  again  at  three  o'clock.  The  rain  very  soon 
hid  the  coast  from  view,  and  the  waves  pitched  our  boat  about  in 
a  manner  not  at  all  pleasant.  I  soon  experienced  sea-sickness 
in  all  its  horrors.  We  had  accidentally  made  the  acquaintance 
of  one  of  the  Neapolitan  sailors,  who  had  been  in  America.  He 
was  one  of  those  rough,  honest  natures  I  like  to  meet  with — their 
blunt  kindness,  is  better  than  refined  and  oily-tongued  suavity. 
As  we  were  standing  by  the  chimney,  reflecting  dolefully  how 
we  should  pass  the  coming  night,  he  came  up  and  said  ;  "  I  am 
in  trouble  about  you,  poor  fellows !  I  don't  think  I  shall  sleep 
three  hours  to-night,  to  think  of  you.  I  shall  tell  all  the  cabin 
they  shall  give  you  beds,  because  they  shall  see  you  are  gentle- 
men !"  Whether  he  did  so  or  the  officers  were  moved  by  spon- 
taneous commiseration,  we  knew  not,  but  in  half  an  hour  a  ser- 
vant beckoned  us  into  the  cabin,  and  berths  were  given  us. 

I  turned  in  with  a  feeling  of  relief  not  easily  imagined,  and  for- 
gave the  fieas  willingly,  in  the  comfort  of  a  shelter  from  the  storm. 
When  I  awoke,  it  was  broad  day.  A  fresh  breeze  was  drying 
the  deck,  and  the  sun  was  half-visible  among  breaking  clouds. 
We  had  just  passed  the  Isle  of  the  Titan,  one  of  the  Isles  des 
Hyeres,  and  the  bay  of  Toulon  opened  on  our  right.  It  was  a 
rugged,  rocky  coast,  but  the  hills  of  sunny  Provence  rose  beyond. 
The  sailor  came  up  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  on  his  rough 
countenance,  and  said  :  "  You  did  sleep  better,  I  think ;  I  did 
tell  them  all !"  coupling  his  assertion  with  a  round  curse  on  the 
officers. 

We  ran  along,  beside  the  brown,  bare  crags  till  nearly  noon, 
when  we  reached  the  eastern  point  of  the  Bay  of  Marseilles.  A 
group  of  small  islands,  formed  of  bare  rocks,  rising  in  precipices 
three  or  four  hundred  feet  high,  guards  the  point;  on  turning 
into  the  Gulf,  we  saw  on  the  left  the  rocky  islands  of  Pomegues, 
and  If,  with  the  castle  crowning  the  latter,  in  which  Mirabeau 
was  confined.  The  ranges  of  hills  which  rose  around  the  great 
bay,  were  spotted  and  sprinkled  over  with  thousands  of  the  coun- 
try cottages  of  the  Marseilles  merchants,  called  Bastides ;  the  city 
itself  was  hidden  from  view.    We  saw  apparently  the  whole  bav, 

16* 


546  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


but  there  was  no  crowd  of  vessels,  such  as  would  befit  a  great 
sea-port ,  a  few  spires  peeping  over  a  bill,  with  some  fortifica- 
tions, were  all  that  was  visible.  At  length  we  turned  suddenly 
aside  and  entered  a  narrow  strait,  between  two  forts.  Immedi- 
ately a  broad  harbor  opened  before  us,  locked  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  hills  on  which  the  city  stands.  It  was  covered  with  vessels 
of  all  nations  ;  on  leaving  the  boat,  we  rowed  past  the  "  Aristides," 
bearing  the  blue  cross  of  Greece,  and  I  searched  eagerly  and 
found,  among  the  crowded  masts,   the  starry  banner  of  America. 

I  have  rambled  through  all  the  principal  parts  of  Marseilles, 
and  am  very  favorably  impressed  with  its  appearance.  Its  clean- 
liness and  the  air  of  life  and  business  which  marks  the  streets, 
are  tlie  more  pleasant  after  coming  from  the  dirty  and  depopu- 
lated Italian  cities.  The  broad  avenues,  lined  with  trees,  which 
traverse  its  whole  length,  must  be  delightful  in  summer.  I  am 
often  reminded,  by  its  spacious  and  crowded  thoroughfares,  of 
our  American  cities.  Although  founded  by  the  Phoceans,  three 
thousand  years  ago,  it  has  scarcely  an  edifice  of  greater  antiquity 
than  three  or  four  centuries,  and  the  tourist  must  content  himself 
with  wanderincT  through  the  narrow  streets  of  the  old  town,  ob- 
serving  the  Provencal  costumes,  or  strolling  among  Turks  and 
Moors  on  the  Qiiai  cV Orleans. 

We  have  been  detained  here  a  day  longer  than  was  necessary, 
owing  to  some  misunderstanding  about  the  passports.  This  has 
not  been  favorable  to  our  reduced  circumstances,  for  we  have 
now  but  twenty  francs  each,  left,  to  take  us  to  Paris.  Our  boots, 
too,  after  serving  us  so  long,  begin  to  show  signs  of  failing  in 
this  hour  of  adversity.  Although  we  are  somewhat  accustomed  to 
such  circumstances,  I  cannot  help  shrinking  when  I  think  of  the 
solitary  napoleon  and  the  five  hundred  miles  to  be  passed.  Per- 
haps, however,  the  coin  will  do  as  much  as  its  great  namesake, 
and  achieve  for  us  a  Marengo  in  the  war  with  fate. 


RAINY  PROVENCE.  347 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

PILGRIMAGE    TO    VAUCLUSE    AND   JOURNEY    IIP    THE    RHONE. 

We  left  Marseilles  about  nine  o'clock,  on  a  dull,  rainy  morn- 
ing, for  Avignon  and  the  Rhone,  intending  to  take  in  our  way 
the  glen  of  Vaucluse.  The  dirty  faubourgs  stretch  out  along 
the  road  for  a  great  distance,  and  we  trudged  through  them,  past 
foundries,  furnaces  and  manufactories,  considerably  disheartened 
with  the  prospect.  We  wound  among  the  bleak  stony  hills,  con- 
tinually ascending,  for  nearly  three  hours.  Great  numbers  of 
cabarets,  frequented  by  the  common  people,  lined  the  roads,  and 
we  met  continually  trains  of  heavy  laden  wagons,  drawn  by  large 
mules.  The  country  is  very  wild  and  barren,  and  \vould  have 
been  tiresome,  except  for  the  pine  groves  with  their  beautiful 
green  foliage.  We  got  something  to  eat  with  difficulty  at  an 
inn,  for  the  people  spoke  nothing  but  the  Provencal  dialect,  and 
the  place  was  so  cold  and  cheerless  we  were  glad  to  go  out  again 
into  the  storm.  It  mattered  little  to  us,  that  we  heard  the  lan- 
guage in  which  the  gay  troubadours  of  king  Rene  sung  their 
songs  of  love.  We  thought  more  of  our  dripping  clotlies  and 
numb,  cold  limbs,  and  would  have  been  glad  to  hear  instead,  the 
strong,  hearty  German  tongue,  full  of  warmth  and  kindly  sym- 
pathy for  the  stranger.  The  wind  swept  drearily  among  the  hills  ; 
black,  gusty  clouds  covered  the  sky,  and  the  incessant  rain  filled 
the  road  with  muddy  pools.  We  looked  at  the  country  chateaux, 
so  comfortable  in  the  midst  of  their  sheltering  poplars,  with  a 
sigh,  and  thought  of  homes  afar  off,  whose  doors  were  nevei 
closed  to  us. 

This  was  all  forgotten,  when  we  reached  Aix,  and  the  hostess 
of  the  Cafe  d'Afrique   filled   her  little  stove  with  fresh  coal,  and 
hung  our  wet  garments  around  it,  while  her  daughter,  a  pale 
faced,  crippled  child,,  smiled  kindly  on  us  and  tried  to  talk  with 


348  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


us  in. French.     Putting  on  our  damp,  heavy  coats  again,  B- 


and  I  rambled  through  the  streets,  while  our  frugal  supper  was 
preparing.  We  saw  the  statue  of  the  Bon  Roi  Rene,  who  held 
at  Aix  his  court  of  shepherds  and  troubadours — the  dark  Cathe- 
dral of  St.  Saveur — the  ancient  walls  and  battlements,  and  gazed 
down  the  valley  at  the  dark,  precipitous  mass  of  Mont  St.  Victor, 
at  whose  base  Marius  obtained  a  splendid  victory  over  the  bar- 
barians. 

After  leaving  next  morning,  we  saw  at  some  distance  to  the 
south,  the  enormous  aqueduct  now  being  erected  for  the  canal 
from  the  Rhone  to  Marseilles.  The  shallow,  elevated  valleys  we 
passed  in  the  forenoon's  walk  were  stony  and  barren,  but  covered 
with  large  orchards  of  almond  trees,  the  fruit  of  which  forms  a 
considerable  article  of  export.  This  district  borders  on  tlie  de- 
sert of  the  Crau,  a  vast  plain  of  stones,  reaching  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Rhone  and  almost  entirely  uninhabited.  We  caught  occa- 
sional glimpses  of  its  sea-like  waste,  between  the  summits  of  the 
hills.  At  length,  after  threading  a  high  ascent,  we  saw  the  val- 
ley of  the  Durance  suddenly  below  us.  The  sun,  breaking  through 
the  clouds,  shone  on  the  mountain  wall,  which  stood  on  the  oppo- 
site side,  touching  with  his  glow  the  bare  and  rocky  precipices 
that  frowned  far  above  the  stream.  Descending  to  the  valley, 
we  followed  its  course  towards  the  Rhone,  with  the  ruins  of  feu- 
dal bourgs  crowning  the  crags  above  us. 

It  was  dusk,  when  we  reached  the  village  of  Senas,  tired  with 
ihe  day's  march.  A  landlord,  standing  in  his  door,  on  the  look- 
out for  customers,  invited  us  to  enter,  in  a  manner  so  polite  and 
pressing,  we  could  not  choose  but  do  so.  This  is  a  universal 
custom  with  the  country  innkeepers.  In  a  little  village  whicli 
we  passed  towards  evening,  there  was  a  tavern,  with  the  sign  : 
"  The  Mother  of  Soldiers.^'  A  portly  woman,  whose  face  beamed 
with  kindness  and  cheerfulness,  stood  in  the  door  and  invited  us 
to  stop  there  for  the  night.  "  No,  mother  !"  I  answered ;  "  we 
must  go  much  further  to-day."  "  Go,  then,"  said  she,  "  with 
good  luck,  my  children  !  a  pleasant  journey  !"  On  entering  the 
mn  at  Senas,  two  or  three  bronzed  soldiers  were  sitting  by  the 
lable.  My  French  vocabulary  happening  to  give  out  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  consultation  about  eggs  and  onion-soup,  one  of  them  came 


APPROACH  TO  VAUCLUSE.  349 

.,0  my  assistance  and  addressed  me  in  German.  He  was  from 
Fulda,  in  Hesse  Cassel,  and  had  served  fifteen  years  in  Africa. 
Two  otlier  young  soldiers,  from  the  western  border  of  Germany, 
came  during  the  evening,  and  one  of  them  being  partly  intoxi- 
cated, created  such  a  tumult,  that  a  quarrel  arose,  which  ended 
in  his  being  beaten  and  turned  out  of  the  house. 

We  met,  every  day,  large  numbers  of  recruits  in  companies 
of  one  or  two  hundred,  on  their  way  to  Marseilles  to  embark  for 
Algiers.  They  were  mostly  youths,  from  sixteen  to  twenty  years 
of  age,  and  seemed  little  to  forebode  their  probable  fate.  In  look- 
ing on  their  fresh,  healthy  faces  and  bounding  forms>  I  saw  also 
a  dim  and  ghastly  vision  of  bones  whitening  on  the  desert,  of  men 
perishing  with  heat  and  fever,  or  stricken  down  by  the  aim  of  the 
savage  Bedouin. 

Leaving  next  morning  at  day-break,  we  walked  on  before 
breakfast  to  Orgon,  a  little  village  in  a  corner  of  the  cliffs 
which  border  the  Durance,  and  crossed  the  muddy  river  by  a 
suspension  bridge  a  short  distance  below,  to  Cavaillon,  where  the 
country  people  were  holding  a  great  market.  From  this  place  a 
road  led  across  the  meadow-land  to  L'Isle,  six  miles  distant. 
This  little  town  is  so  named,  because  it  is  situated  on  an  is- 
land formed  by  the  crystal  Sorgues,  which  flows  from  the  foun- 
tains of  Vaucluse.  It  is  a  very  picturesque  and  pretty  place. 
Great  mill-wheels,  turning  slowly  and  constantly,  stand  at  inter- 
vals in  the  stream,  whose  grassy  banks  are  now  as  green  as  in 
spring-time.  We  walked  along  the  Sorgues,  which  is  quite  as 
beautiful  and  worthy  to  be  sung  as  the  Clitumnus,  to  the  end  of 
the  village,  to  take  the  road  to  Vaucluse.  Beside  its  banks  stands 
a  dirty,  modern  "  Hotel  de  Petrarquc  et  Laure,"  Alas,  that  the 
names  of  the  most  romantic  and  impassioned  lovers  of  all  his- 
tory should  be  desecrated  to  a  sign-post  to  allure  gormandizing 
tourists  ! 

The  bare  mountain  in  whose  heart  lies  the  poet's  solitude,  now 
rose  before  us,  at  the  foot  of  the  lofty  Mont  Ventoux,  whose  sum- 
mit of  snows  extended  beyond.  We  left  the  river,  and  walked 
over  a  barren  plain,  across  which  the  wind  blew  most  drearily. 
The  sky  was  rainy  and  dark,  and  completed  the  desolateness  of 
the  scene;  which  in  no  wise   heightened  our  anticipations  of  the 


350  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


renowned  glen.  At  length  we  rejoined  the  Sorgues  and  entered 
a  little  green  valley  running  up  into  the  mountain.  The  narrow- 
ness of  the  entrance  entirely  shut  out  the  wind,  and  except  the 
rolling  of  the  waters  over  their  pebbly  bed,  all  was  still  and  lonely 
and  beautiful.  The  sides  of  the  dell  were  covered  with  olive 
trees,  and  a  narrow  strip  of  emerald  meadow  lay  at  the  bottom. 
It  gi'ew  more  hidden  and  sequestered  as  we  approached  the  little 
village  of  Vaucluse.  Here,  the  mountain  towers  far  above,  and 
precipices  of  grey  rock,  many  hundred  feet  high,  hang  over  the 
narrowing  glen.  On  a  crag  over  the  village  are  the  remains  of 
a  castle  ;  the  slope  below  this,  now  rugged  and  stony,  was  once 
graced  by  the  cottage  and  garden  of  Petrarch.  All  traces  of 
them  have  long  since  vanished,  but  a  simple  column,  bearing  the 
inscription,  "  A  Petrarque,"  stands  beside  the  Sorgues. 

We  ascended  into  the  defile  by  a  path  among  the  rocks,  over- 
shadowed by  olive  and  wild  fig  trees,  to  the  celebrated  fountains 
of  Vaucluse.  The  glen  seems  as  if  struck  into  the  mountain's 
depths  by  one  blow  of  an  enchanter's  wand  ;  and  just  at  the  end, 
where  the  rod  might  have  rested  in  its  downward  sweep,  is  the 
fathomless  well  whose  overbrimming  fulness  gives  birth  to  the 
Sorgues.  We  climbed  up  over  the  mossy  rocks  and  sat  down  in 
the  grot,  beside  the  dark,  still  pool.  It  was  the  most  absolute  sol- 
itude. The  rocks  towered  above  and  over  us,  to  the  height  of 
six  hundred  feet,  and  the  gray  walls  of  the  wild  glen  below  shut 
out  all  appearance  of  life.  I  leaned  over  the  rock  and  drank  of 
the  blue  crystal  that  grew  gradually  darker  towards  the  centre, 
till  it  became  a  mirror,  and  gave  back  a  perfect  reflection  of  the 
crags  above  it.  There  was  no  bubbling — no  gushing  up  from  its 
deep  bosom — but  the  wealth  of  sparkling  waters  continually 
welled  over,  as  from  a  too-full  goblet. 

It  was  with  actual  sorrow  that  I  turned  away  from  the  silent 
spot.  I  never  visited  a  place  to  which  the  fancy  clung  more 
suddenly  and  fondly.  There  is  something  holy  in  its  solitude, 
making  one  envy  Petrarch  the  years  of  calm  and  unsullied  en- 
joyment which  blessed  him  there.  As  some  persons,  whom  we 
pass  as  strangers,  strike  a  hidden  chord  in  our  spirits,  compelling 
a  silent  sympathy  with  them,  so  some  landscapes  have  a  charac- 
ter of  beauty    which   harmonizes  thrillingly   with    the   mood  in 


VALLEY   OF   THE   RHONE.  351 

which  we  look  upon  them,  till  we  forget  admiration  in  the  glow 
of  spontaneous  attachment.  They  seem  like  abodes  of  the  Beau- 
tiful, which  the  soul  in  its  wanderings  long  ago  visited,  and  now 
recoi^nizes  and  loves  as  the  home  of  a  forg-otten  dream.  It  was 
ihus  I  felt  by  the  fountains  of  Vaucluse  ;  sadly  and  with  weary 
Bteps  I  turned  away,  leaving  its  loneliness  unbroken  as  before. 

We  returned  over  the  plain  in  the  wind,  under  the  gloomy  sky, 
passed  L'  Isle  at  dusk,  and  after  walking  an  hour  with  a  rain  fol- 
lowing close  behind  us,  stopped  at  an  anherge  in  Le  Thor,  where 
we  rested  our  tired  frames  and  broke  our  long  day's  fasting.  We 
were  greeted  in  the  morning  with  a  dismal  rain  and  wet  roads,  as 
we  began  the  march.  After  a  time,  however,  it  poured  down  in  such 
torrents,  that  we  were  obliged  to  take  shelter  in  aremise  by  the  road- 
side, where  a  good  woman,  who  addressed  us  in  the  unintelligible 
Provencal,  kindled  up  a  blazing  fire.  On  climbing  a  long  hill,  when 
the  storm  had  abated,  we  experienced  a  delightful  surprise.  Be- 
low us  lay  the  broad  valley  of  the  Rhone,  with  its  meadows  look- 
ing fresh  and  spring-like  after  the  rain.  The  clouds  were  break- 
ing away  ;  clear  blue  sky  w^as  visible  over  Avignon,  and  a  belt 
of  sunlight  lay  warmly  along  the  mountains  of  Languedoc. 
Many  villages,  with  their  tall,  picturesque  towers,  dotted  the 
landscape,  and  the  groves  of  green  olive  enlivened  the  barren- 
ness of  winter.  Tv/o  or  three  hours'  walk  over  the  plain,  by  a 
road  fringed  with  willows,  brought  us  to  the  gates  of  Avignon. 

We  walked  around  its  picturesque  turreted  wall,  and  rambled 
through  its  narrow  streets,  washed  here  and  there  by  streams 
which  turn  the  old  mill-wheels  lazily  around.  We  climbed  up  to 
the  massive  palace,  which  overlooks  the  citv  from  its  crasfo-v 
seat,  attesting  the  splendor  it  enjoyed,  when  for  thirty  years  the 
Papal  Court  was  held  there,  and  the  gray,  weather-beaten,  irreg- 
ular building,  resembling  a  pile  of  precipitous  rocks,  echoed  with 
the  revels  of  licentious  prelates.  We  could  not  enter  to  learn  the 
terrible  secrets  of  the  Inquisition,  here  unveiled,  but  we  looked 
up  at  the  tower,  from  which  the  captive  Rienzi  was  liberated  at 
the  intercession  of  Petrarch. 

After  leaving  Avignon,  we  took  the  road  up  the  Rhone  for  Ly- 
ons, turning  our  backs  upon  the  rainy  south.  We  reached  the 
village  of  Sorgues  by  dusk,  and  accepted  the  invitation  of  an  old 


352  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 

dame  to  lodge  at  her  inn,  which  proved  to  be  a  hlacksmiili' s  shopf 
It  was  nevertheless  clean  and  comfortable,  and  we  sat  down  in 
one  corner,  out  of  the  reach  of  the  showers  of  sparks,  which  flew 
hissing  from  a  red-hot  horseshoe,  that  the  smith  and  his  appren- 
tice were  hammering.  A  Piedmontese  pedlar,  who  carried  the 
'  Song  of  the  Holy  St.  Philomene"  to  sell  among  the  peasants, 
jame  in  directly,  and  bargained  for  a  sleep  on  some  hay,  for  two 
sous.  For  a  bed  in  the  loft  over  the  shop,  we  were  charged  five 
sous  each,  which,  with  seven  sous  for  supper,  made  our  expenses 
for  the  night  about  eleven  cents  !  Our  circumstances  demanded 
the  greatest  economy,  and  we  began  to  fear  whether  even  this 
spare  allowance  would  enable  us  to  reach  Lyons.  Owing  to  a 
day's  delay  in  Marseilles,  we  had  left  that  city  with  but  fifteen 
francs  each  ;  the  incessant  storms  of  winter  and  the  worn-out 
state  of  our  shoes,  which  were  no  longer  proof  against  water 
or  mud,  prolonged  our  journey  considerably,  so  that  by  start- 
ing before  dawn  and  walking  till  dark,  we  were  only  able  to 
make  thirty  miles  a  day.  We  could  always  procure  beds  for  five 
sous,  and  as  in  the  country  inns  one  is  only  charged  for  what  he 
chooses  to  order,  our  frugal  suppers  cost  us  but  little.  We  pur- 
chased bread  and  cheese  in  the  villages,  and  made  our  break- 
fasts and  dinners  on  a  bank  by  the  roadside,  or  climbed  the 
rocks  and  sat  down  by  the  source  of  some  trickling  rill.  This 
simple  fare  had  an  excellent  relish,  and  although  we  walked  in 
wet  clothes  from  morning  till  night,  often  laying  down  on  the 
damp,  cold  earth  to  rest,  our  health  was  never  affected. 

It  is  worth  all  the  toil  and  privation  we  have  as  yet  undergone, 
to  gain,  from  actual  experience,  the  blessed  knowledge  that  man 
always  retains  a  kindness  and  brotherly  sympathy  towards  his 
fellow — that  under  all  the  weight  of  vice  and  misery  which  a 
grinding  oppression  of  soul  and  body  brings  on  the  laborers  of 
earth,  there  still  remain  many  bright  tokens  of  a  better  nature. 
Among  the  starving  mountaineers  of  the  Hartz — the  degraded 
peasantry  of  Bohemia — the  savage  contadini  of  Central  Italy,  or 
the  dwellers  on  the  hills  of  Provence  and  beside  the  swift  Rhone, 
we  almost  invariably  found  kind,  honest  hearts,  and  an  aspiration 
for  something  better,  betokening  the  consciousness  that  such  brute- 
like, obedient  existence  was  not  their  proper  destiny.     We  found 


ROMAN  REMAINS.  353 


few  so  hardened  as  to  be  insensible  to  a  kind  look  or  a  friendly 
word,  and  nothing  made  us  forget  we  were  among  strangers  so 
much  as  the  many  tokens  of  sympathy  which  met  us  when  least 
looked  for.  A  young  Englishman,  who  had  traveled  on  foot  from 
Geneva  to  Rome,  enduring  many  privations  on  account  of  his 
reduced  circumstances,  said  to  me,  vviiile  speaking  on  this  subject: 
"  A  single  word  of  kindness  from  a  stranger  would  make  my 
heart  warm  and  my  spirits  cheerful,  for  days  afterwards."  There 
is  not  so  much  evil  in  man  as  men  would  have  us  believe  ;  and 
it  is  a  happy  comfort  to  know  and  feel  this. 

Leaving  our  little  inn  befoi-e  day-break  next  morning,  we 
crossed  the  Sorgues,  grown  muddy  since  its  infancy  at  Vaucluse, 
like  many  a  young  soul,  whose  mountain  purity  goes  out  into  the 
soiling  world  and  becomes  sullied  forever.  The  road  passed 
over  broad,  barren  ranges  of  hills,  and  the  landscape  was  desti- 
tute of  all  interest,  till  we  approached  Orange.  This  city  is  built 
at  the  foot  of  a  rocky  height,  a  great  square  projection  of  which 
seemed  to  stand  in  its  midst.  As  we  approached  nearer,  hovv- 
ever,  arches  and  lines  of  cornice  could  be  discerned,  and  we 
recognized  it  as  the  celebrated  amphitheatre,  one  of  the  grandest 
Roman  relics  in  the  south  of  France. 

I  stood  at  the  foot  of  this  great  fabric,  and  gazed  up  at  it  in 
astonishment.  The  exterior  wall,  three  hundred  and  thirty-four 
feet  in  length,  and  rising  to  the  height  of  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
one  feet,  is  still  in  excellent  preservation,  and  through  its  rows  of 
solid  arches  one  looks  on  the  broken  ranges  of  seats  within.  On 
the  crag  above,  and  looking  as  if  about  to  topple  down  on  it,  is  a 
massive  fragment  of  the  fortress  of  the  Princes  of  Orange,  razed 
by  Louis  XIV.  Passing  through  the  city,  we  came  to  the  beau- 
tiful Roman  triumphal  arch,  which  to  my  eye  is  a  finer  structure 
than  that  of  Constantino  at  Rome.  It  is  built  of  a  rich  yellow 
marble  and  highly  ornamented  with  sculptured  trophies.  From 
the  barbaric  shields  and  the  letters  Mario,  siill  remaining,  it 
has  been  supposed  to  commemorate  the  victory  of  Marius  over 
the  barbarians,  near  Aix.  A  frieze,  running  along  the  top,  on 
each  side,  shows,  although  broken  and  much  defaced  by  the  wea- 
ther, the  life  and  action  which  once  marked  the  struggling  figures. 
These  Roman  ruins,  scattered  through  Provence  and  Languedoc, 


354  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


though  inferior  in  historical  interest,  equal  in  architectural  beauty 
the  greater  part  of  those  in  the  Eternal  City  itself. 

The  rest  of  the  day  the  road  was  monotonous,  though  varied 
somewhat  by  the  tall  crags  of  Mornas  and  Mont-dragon,  towering 
over  the  villages  of  the  same  name.  Night  came  on  as  the  rock 
of  Pierrelatte,  at  whose  foot  we  were  to  sleep,  appeared  in  the 
distance,  rising  like  a  Gibraltar  from  the  plain,  and  we  only 
reached  it  in  time  to  escape  the  rain  that  came  down  the  valley 
of  the  Rhone. 

Next  day  we  passed  several  companies  of  soldiers  on  their  way 
to  Africa.  One  of  them  was  accompanied  by  a  young  girl,  ap- 
parently the  wife  of  the  recruit  by  whose  side  she  was  marching. 
She  wore  the  tight  blue  jacket  of  the  troop,  and  a  red  skirt,  reach- 
ing to  the  knees,  over  her  soldier  pantaloons  ;  while  her  pretty 
face  showed  to  advantage  beneath  a  small  military  cap.  It  was 
a  "  Fille  du  Regiment"  in  real  life.  Near  Montelimart,  we  lost 
sight  of  Mont  Ventoux,  whose  gleaming  white  crest  had  been  vis- 
ible all  the  way  from  Vaucluse,  and  passed  along  the  base  of  a 
range  of  hills  running  near  to  the  river.  So  went  our  march, 
without  particular  incident,  till  we  bivouacked  for  the  night  among 
a  company  of  soldiers  in  the  little  village  of  Loriol. 

Leaving  at  six  o'clock,  wakened  by  the  trumpets  which  called 
up  the  soldiery  to  their  day's  march,  we  reached  the  river  Drome 
at  dawn,  and  from  the  bridge  over  its  rapid  current,  gazed  at  the 
dim,  ash-colored  masses  of  the  Alps  of  Dauphine,  piled  along  the 
sky,  far  up  the  valley.  The  coming  of  morn  threw  a  yellow 
glow  along  their  snowy  sides,  and  lighted  up,  here  and  there,  a 
flashing  glacier.  The  peasantry  were  already  up  and  at  work, 
and  caravans  of  pack-wagons  rumbled  along  in  the  morning  twi- 
light We  trudged  on  with  them,  and  by  breakfast-time  had  made 
some  distance  of  the  v/ay  to  Valence.  The  road,  which  does  not 
approach  the  Rhone,  is  devoid  of  interest  and  tiresome,  though 
under  a  summer  sky,  when  the  bare  vine-hills  are  latticed  over 
with  green,  and  the  fruit-trees  covered  with  blossoms  and  foliage, 
it  might  be  a  scene  of  great  beauty. 

Valence,  which  we  reached  towards  noon,  is  a  commonplace 
city  on  the  Rhone  ;  and  my  only  reasons  for  traversing  its  dirty 
streets  in  preference  to  taking  the  road,  which  passes  without  the 


THE   RHONE.  .  355 


walls,  were — to  get  something  for  dinner,  and  because  it  might 
have  been  the  birth-place  of  Aymer  de  Valence,  the  valorous 
Crusader,  chronicled  in  "Ivanhoe,"  whose  tomb  I  had  seen  in 
Westminster  Abbey.  One  of  the  streets  which  was  marked  "  Rue 
Bayard,^^  shows  that  my  valiant  namesake — the  knight  without 
fear  and  reproach — is  still  remembered  in  his  native  province. 
The  ruins  of  his  chateau  are  still  standing  among  the  Alps  near 
Grenoble. 

In  the  afternoon  we  crossed  the  Isere,  a  swift,  muddy  river, 
which  rises  among  the  Alps  of  Dauphine.  We  saw  their  icy 
rano-e,  amono;  which  is  the  desert  solitude  of  the  Grand  Char, 
treuse,  far  up  the  valley  ;  but  the  thick  atmosphere  hid  the  mighty 
Mont  Blanc,  whose  cloudy  outline,  eighty  miles  distant  in  a  "  bee 
line,"  is  visible  in  fliir  weather.  At  Tain,  we  came  upon  the 
Rhone  again,  and  walked  along  the  base  of  the  hills  which  con- 
tract its  current.  Here,  I  should  call  it  beautiful.  The  scenery 
has  a  wildness  thai  approaches  to  that  of  the  Rhine.  Rocky, 
castellated  heights  frown  over  the  rushing  waters,  which  have 
something  of  the  majesty  of  their  "  exulting  and  abounding"  rival. 
Winding  around  the  curving  hills,  the  scene  is  constantly  varied, 
and  the  little  willovved  islets  clasped  in  the  embrace  of  the  stream, 
mingle  a  trait  of  softened  beauty  with  its  sterner  character. 

After  passing  the  nigiit  at  a  village  on  its  banks,  we  left  it 
again  at  St.  Vallier,  the  next  morning.  At  sunset,  the  spires  of 
Vienne  were  visible,  and  the  lofty  Mont  Pilas,  the  snows  of  whose 
riven  summits  feed  the  springs  of  the  Loire  on  its  western  side, 
stretched  majestically  along  the  opposite  bank  of  the  Rhone.  In 
a  meadow,  near  Vienne,  stands  a  curious  Roman  obelisk,  seventy- 
six  feet  in  height.  The  base  is  composed  of  four  pillars,  con- 
nected by  arches,  and  the  whole  structure  has  a  barbaric  air, 
compared  with  the  more  elegant  monuments  of  Orange  and  Nis- 
mes.  Vienne,  which  is  mentioned  by  several  of  the  Roman  his- 
torians under  its  present  name,  was  the  capital  of  the  Allobroges, 
and  I  looked  upon  it  with  a  new  and  strange  interest,  on  calling 
to  mind  my  school-boy  days,  when  I  had  become  familiar  with 
that  war-like  race,  in  toiling  over  the  pages  of  Csesar.  We 
walked  in  the  mud  and  darkness  for  what  seemed  a  great  dis- 
tance,  and  finally  took  shelV>r  in  a  little  inn  at  the  northern  end 


356  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


of  the  city.  Two  Belgian  soldiers,  coming  from  Africa,  were  al- 
ready quartered  there,  and  we  listened  to  their  tales  of  the  Arab 
and  the  desert,  while  supper  was  preparing. 

The  morning  of  the  25th  was  dull  and  rainy  ;  the  road,  very 
muddy  and  unpleasant,  led  over  the  hills,  avoiding  the  westward 
curve  of  the  Rhone,  directly  towards  Lyons.  About  noon,  we 
came  in  vsight  of  the  broad  valley  in  which  the  Rhone  first  clasps 
his  Burgundian  bride — the  Saone,  and  a  cloud  of  impenetrable 
coal-smoke  showed  us  the  location  of  Lyons.  A  nearer  approach 
revealed  a  large  flat  dome,  and  some  ranges  of  tall  buildings  near 
the  river.  We  soon  entered  the  suburb  of  La  Guillotiere,  which 
has  sprung  up  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Rhone.  Notwithstand 
ing  our  clothes  were  like  sponges,  our  boots  entirely  worn  out, 
and  our  bodies  somewhat  thin  with  nine  days  exposure  to  the 
wintry  storms  in  walking  two  hundred  and  forty  miles,  we  entered 
Lyons  with-  suspense  and  anxiety.  But  one  franc  apiece  re- 
mained out  of  the  fifteen  witli  which  we  left  Marseilles.     B 

wrote  home  some  time  ago,  directing  a  remittance  to  be  forwarded 
to  a  merchant  at  Paris,  to  whom  he  had  a  letter  of  introduction, 
and  in  the  hope  that  this  had  arrived,  he  determined  to  enclose  the 
letter  in  a  note,  stating  our  circumstances,  and  requesting  him  to 
forward  a  part  of  the  remittance  to  Lyons.  We  had  then  to  wait 
at  least  four  days  ;  people  are  suspicious  and  mistrustful  in  cities, 
and  if  no  relief  should  come,  what  was  to  be  done  ? 

After  wading  through  the  mud  of  the  suburbs,  we  chose  a  com- 
mon-looking inn  near  the  river,  as  the  comfort  of  our  stay  depended 
wholly  on  the  kindness  of  our  hosts,  and  we  hoped  to  find  more 
sympathy  among  the  laboring  classes.  We  engaged  lodgings  for 
four  or  five  days  ;  after  dinner  the  letter  was  dispatched,  and  we 
wandered  about  through  the  dark,  dirty  city  until  night.  Our 
landlord,  Monsieur  Ferrand,  was  a  rough,  vigorous  man,  with  a 
gloomy,  discontented  expression  ;  his  words  were  few  and  blunt ; 
but  a  certain  restlessness  of  manner,  and  a  secret  flashing  of  his 
cold,  forbidding  eye  betrayed  to  me  some  strong  hidden  excite- 
ment. Madame  Ferrand  was  kind  and  talkative,  though  pas- 
sionate ;  but  the  appearance  of  the  place  gave  me  an  unfavora- 
ble impression,  which  was  heightened  by  the  thought  that  it  was 
now  impossible  to  change  our  lodgings  until  relief  should  arrive. 


A  GLOOMY  SITUATION.  357 

When  bed-time  came,  a  ladder  was  placed  against  a  sort  of  high 
platform  along  one  side  of  the  kitchen  ;  we  mounted  and  found  a 
bed,  concealed  from  the  view  of  those  below  by  a  dusty  muslin 
curtain.  We  lay  there,  between  heaven  and  earth — the  dirty  earth 
of  the  brick  floor  and  the  sooty  heaven  of  the  ceiling — listening 
until  midnight  to  the  boisterous  songs,  and  loud,,  angry  disputes  in 
the  room  adjoining.     Thus  ended  our  first  day  in  Lyons. 

Five  weary  days,  each  of  them  containing  a  month  of  tortur- 
ing suspense,  have  since  passed.  Our  lodging-place  grew  so  un- 
pleasant that  we  preferred  wandering  all  day  through  the  misty, 
muddy,  smoky  streets,  taking  refuge  in  the  covered  bazaars  when 
it  rained  heavily.  The  gloom  of  every  thing  around  us,  entirely 
smothered  down  the  lightness  of  heart  which  made  us  laugh  over 
our  embarrassments  at  Vienna.  When  at  evening,  the  dull, 
leaden  hue  of  the  clouds  seemed  to  make  the  air  dark  and  cold 
and  heavy,  we  walked  beside  the  swollen  and  turbid  Rhone,  un- 
der an  avenue  of  leafless  trees,  the  damp  soil  chilling  our  feet 
and  striking  a  numbness  through  our  frames,  and  then  1  knew 
what  those  must  feel  who  have  no  hope  in  their  destitution,  and 
not  a  friend  in  all  the  great  world,  who  is  not  wretched  as  them- 
selves.    I  prize  the  lesson,  though  the  price  of  it  is  hard. 

"  This  morning,"  I  said  to  B ,  "  will  terminate  our  sus- 
pense." I  felt  cheerful  in  spite  of  myself;  and  this  was  like  a 
presentiment  of  coming  good  luck.  To  pass  the  time  till  the 
mail  arrived  we  climbed  to  the  chapel  of  Fourvieres,  whose  walls 
are  covered  with  votive  offerings  to  a  miraculous  picture  of  the 
Virgin.  But  at  the  precise  hour  we  were  at  the  Post  Office. 
What  an  intensity  of  suspense  can  be  felt  in  that  minute,  while 
the  clerk  is  lookinjj  over  the  letters  !  And  what  a  liojhtninsf-like 
shock  of  joy  when  it  did  come,  and  was  opened  with  eager,  trem- 
bling hands,  revealing  the  relief  we  had  almost  despaired  of! 
The  city  did  not  seem  less  gloomy,  for  that  was  impossible,  but 
the  faces  of  the  crowd  which  had  appeared  cold  and  suspicious, 
were  now  kind  and  cheerful.  We  came  home  to  our  lodgings 
with  chansred  feelinors,  and  Madame  Ferrand  must  have  seen  the 
joy  in  our  faces,  for  she  greeted  us  with  an  unusual  smile. 

We  leave  to-morrow  morning  for  Chalons.  I  do  not  feel  dis- 
posed to  describe  Lyons  particularly,  although  I  have  become  in- 


358  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


timately  acquainted  with  every  part  of  it,  from  Fresqu'  isle  Per- 
rache  to  Croix  Rousse.  I  know  the  contents  of  every  shop  in  the 
Bazaar,  and  the  passage  of  the  Hotel  Dieu — the  title  of  every 
volume  in  the  bookstores  in  the  Place  Belcour — and  the  counten- 
ance of  every  boot-black  and  apple-woman  on  the  Quais  on  both 
sides  of  the  river.  I  have  walked  up  the  Saone.  to  Pierre  Seise — 
down  the  Rhone  to  his  muddy  marriage — climbed  the  Heights  of 
Fourvi^res,  and  promenaded  in  the  Cours  Napoleon  !  Why,  men 
have  been  presented  with  the  freedom  of  cities,  when  they  have 
had  far  less  cause  for  such  an  honor  than  this ! 


DEPARTURE  FROM   LYONS.  359 


CHAPTER    XLIV, 

TRAVELING  IN  BURGUNDY THE  MISERIES  OF  A  COUNTRY   DILIGENCE. 

Paris,  Feb.  6,  184G. — Every  letter  of  the  date  is  traced  with 
an  emotion  of  joy,  for  our  dreary  journey  is  over.  There  was  a 
magic  in  the  name  that  revived  us  during  a  long  journey,  and  now 
the  thought  that  it  is  all  over — that  these  walls  which  enclose 
us,  stand  in  the  heart  of  the  gay  city — seems  almost  too  joyful  to 
be  true.  Yesterday  I  marked  with  the  whitest  chalk,  on  the 
blackest  of  all  tablets  to  make  the  contrast  greater,  for  I  got  out 
of  the  cramped  diligence  at  the  Barriere  de  Charenton,  and  saw 
before  me  in  the  morning  twilight,  the  immense  grey  mass  of 
Paris.  T  forgot  my  numbed  and  stiffened  frame,  and  every  other 
of  the  thousand  disagreeable  feelings  of  diligence  traveling,  in 
the  pleasure  which  that  sight  afforded. 

We  arose  in  the  dark  at  Lyons,  and  after  bidding  adieu  to  mo- 
rose Monsieur  Ferrand,  traversed  the  silent  city  and  found  our 
way  in  the  mist  and  gloom  to  the  steamboat  landing  on  the  Saone. 
The  waters  were  swollen  much  above  their  usual  level,  which 
was  favorable  for  the  boat,  as  long  as  there  was  room  enough  left 
to  pass  under  the  bridges.  After  a  great  deal  of  bustle  we  got 
under  way,  and  were  dashing  out  of  Lyons,  against  the  swift 
current,  before  day-break.  We  passed  L'IsIe  Barhe,  once  a 
favorite  residence  of  Charlemagne,  and  now  the  haunt  of  the 
Lyonnaise  on  summer  holidays,  and  going  under  the  suspension 
bridges  with  levelled  chimneys,  entered  the  picturesque  hills 
above,  which  are  covered  with  vineyards  nearly  to  the  top  ;  the 
villages  scattered  over  them  have  those  square,  pointed  towers, 
which  give  such  a  quaintness  to  French  country  scenery. 

The  stream  being  very  high,  the  meadows  on  both  sides  were 
deeply  overflowed.  To  avoid  the  strong  current  in  the  centre, 
Gur  boat  ran  along  the  banks,  pushing  aside  the  alder  thickets 


360  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


and  poplar  shoots  ;  in  passing  the  bridges,  the  pipes  were 
always  brought  down  flat  on  the  deck.  A  little  after  noon,  we 
passed  the  large  town  of  Macon,  the  birth-place  of  the  poet  Lam- 
artine.  The  valley  of  the  Saone,  no  longer  enclosed  among  the 
hills,  spread  out  to  several  miles  in  width.  Along  the  west  lay 
in  sunshine  the  vine-mountains  of  Cote  d'Or,  and  among  the  dark 
clouds  in  the  eastern  sky,  we  could  barely  distinguish  the  outline 
of  the  Jura.  The  waters  were  so  much  swollen  as  to  cover  the 
plain  for  two  or  three  miles.  We  seemed  to  be  sailing  down  a 
lake,  with  rows  of  trees  springing  up  out  of  the  water,  and 
houses  and  villages  lying  like  islands  on  its  surface.  A  sunset 
that  promised  better  weather  tinged  the  broad  brown  flood,  as 
Chalons  came  in  sight,  looking  like  a  city  built  along  the  shore  of 
a  lake.  We  squeezed  through  the  crowd  of  porters  and  diligence 
men,  declining  their  kind  offers,  and  hunted  quarters  to  suit  our- 
selves. 

We  left  Chalons  on  the  morning  of  the  1st,  in  high  spirits  at 
the  thought  that  there  were  but  little  more  than  two  hundred 
miles  between  us  and  Paris.  In  walking  over  the  cold,  muddy 
plain,  we  passed  a  family  of  strolling  musicians,  who  were  sitting 
on  a  heap  of  stones  by  the  roadside.  An  ill-dressed,  ill-natured 
man  and  woman,  each  carrying  a  violin,  and  a  thin,  squalid  girl, 
with  a  tamborine,  composed  the  group.  Their  faces  bore  that  un- 
feeling stamp,  which  springs  from  depravity  and  degradation. 
When  we  had  walked  somewhat  more  than  a  mile,  we  overtook  a 
little  girl,  who  was  crying  bitterly.  By  her  features,  from  which 
the  fresh  beauty  of  childhood  had  not  been  worn,  and  the  steel 
triangle  which  was  tied  to  her  belt,  we  knew  she  belonged  to  the 
family  we  had  passed.  Her  dress  was  thin  and  ragged  and  a 
pair  of  wooden  shoes  but  ill  protected  her  feet  from  the  sharp 
cold.  I  stopped  and  asked  her  why  she  cried,  but  she  did  not  at 
first  answer.  However,  by  questioning,  I  found  her  unfeeling 
parents  had  sent  heron  without  food  ;  she  was  sobbing  with  hun- 
ger and  cold.  Our  pockets  were  full  of  bread  and  cheese  which 
we  had  bought  for  breakfast,  and  we  gave  her  half  a  loaf,  which 
stopped  her  tears  at  once.  She  looked  up  and  thanked  us,  smil- 
ing ;  and  sitting  down  on  a  bauk,  began  to  eat  as  if  half  fam 
iahed. 


THE   RUIN  AND   ROCHEPOT.  36i 

The  physiognomy  of  this  region  is  very  singular.  It  appears 
as  if  the  country  had  been  originally  a  vast  elevated  plain,  and 
some  great  power  had  scooped  out,  as  with  a  hand,  deep  circular 
valleys  all  over  its  surface.  In  winding  along  the  high  ridges, 
we  often  looked  down,  on  either  side,  into  such  hollows,  several 
miles  in  diameter,  and  sometimes  entirely  covered  with  vine- 
yards. At  La  Rochepot,  a  quaint,  antique  village,  lying  in  the 
bottom  of  one  of  these  dells,  we  saw  the  finest  ruin  of  the  middle 
ages  that  I  have  met  with  in  France.  An  American  lady  had 
spoken  to  me  of  it  in  Rome,  and  I  believe  Willis  mentions  it  in 
his  "  Pencillings,"  but  it  is  not  described  in  the  guide  books,  nor 
could  we  learn  what  feudal  lord  had  ever  dwelt  in  its  halls.  It 
covers  the  summit  of  a  stately  rock,  at  whose  foot  the  village  is 
crouched,  and  the  green  ivy  climbs  up  to  the  very  top  of  its 
gray  towers. 

As  the  road  makes  a  wide  curve  around  the  side  of  the  hill,  we 
descended  to  the  village  by  the  nearer  foot-path,  and  passed 
among  its  low,  old  houses,  with  their  pointed  gables  and  mossy 
roofs.  The  path  led  close  along  the  foot  of  the  rock,  and  we 
climbed  up  to  the  ruin,  and  stood  in  its  grass-grown  courtyard. 
Only  the  outer  walls  and  the  round  towers  at  each  corner  are  left 
remaining  ;  the  inner  part  has  been  razed  to  the  ground,  and  where 
proud  barons  once  marshalled  their  vassals,  the  villagers  now 
play  their  holiday  games.  On  one  side,  several  Gothic  windows 
are  left  standing,  perfect,  though  of  simple  construction,  and  in 
the  towers  we  saw  many  fire-places  and  door-ways  of  richly  cut 
stone,  which  looked  as  fresh  as  if  just  erected. 

We  passed  the  night  at  Ivry  (not  the  Ivry  which  gained  Henri 
Quatre  his  kingdom)  and  then  continued  our  march  over  roads 
which  I  can  only  compare  to  our  country  roads  in  America  during 
the  spring  thaw.  In  addition  to  this,  the  rain  commenced  early 
in  the  morning  and  continued  all  day,  so  that  we  were  completely 
wet  the  whole  time.  The  plains,  too  high  and  cold  to  produce 
wine,  were  varied  by  forests  of  beech  and  oak,  and  the  population 
was  thinly  scattered  over  them  in  small  villages.  Travelers  gen- 
erally complain  very  much  of  the  monotony  of  this  part  of  France, 
and,  with  such  dreary  weather,  we  could  not  disagree  with  them. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  the  rain  increased,  and  the  sky  put  on  that 

17 


362  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


dull,  gray  cast,  which  denotes  a  lengthened  storm.  We  were 
fain  to  stop  at  nightfall,  but  there  was  no  inn  near  at  hand — not 
even  a  hovel  of  a  cabaret  in  which  to  shelter  ourselves,  and,  on 
enquiring  of  the  wagoners,  we  received  the  comforting  assurance 
that  there  was  yet  a  league  and  a  half  to  the  nearest  stopping 
place.  On,  then,  we  went,  with  the  pitiless  storm  beating  in  our 
faces  and  on  our  breasts,  till  there  was  not  a  dry  spot  left,  except 
what  our  knapsacks  covered.  We  could  not  have  been  more 
completely  saturated  if  we  had  been  dipped  in  the  Yonne.  At 
length,  after  two  hours  of  slipping  and  sliding  along  in  the  mud 
and  wet  and  darkness,  we  reached  Saulieu,  and,  by  the  warm 
fire,  thanked  our  stars  that  the  day's  dismal  tramp  was  over. 

By  good  or  bad  luck  (I  have  not  yet  decided  which)  a  vehicle 
was  to  start  the  next  morning  for  Auxerre,  distant  sixty  miles, 
and  the  fare  being  but  five  francs,  we  thought  it  wisest  to  take 
places.  It  was  always  with  reluctance  that  we  departed  from 
our  usual  mode  of  traveling,  but,  in  the  present  instance,  the  cir- 
cumstances absolutely  compelled  it. 

Next  morning,  at  sunrise,  we  took  our  seats  in  a  large,  square 
vehicle  on  two  wheels,  calculated  for  six  persons  and  a  driver, 
with  a  single  horse.  But,  as  he  was  fat  and  round  as  an  elephant, 
and  started  off  at  a  brisk  pace,  and  we  were  well  protected  from 
the  rain,  it  was  not  so  bad  after  all,  barring  the  jolts  and  jarred 
vertebrae.  We  drove  on,  over  the  same  dreary  expanse  of  plain 
and  forest,  passing  through  two  or  three  towns  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  and  by  evening  had  made  somewhat  more  than  half  our  jour- 
ney. Owing  to  the  slowness  of  our  fresh  horse,  we  were  jolted 
about  the  whole  night,  and  did  not  arrive  at  Auxerre  until  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  After  waiting  an  hour  in  a  hotel  beside 
the  rushing  Yonne,  a  lumbering  diligence  was  got  ready,  and  we 
were  given  places  to  Paris  for  seven  francs.  As  the  distance  is 
one  hundred  and  ten  miles,  this  would  be  considered  cheap,  but 
I  should  not  want  to  travel  it  again  and  be  paid  for  doing  so. 
Twelve  persons  were  packed  into  a  box  not  large  enough  for  a 
cow,  and  no  cabinet-maker  ever  dove-tailed  the  corners  of  his  bu- 
reaus tighter  than  we  did  our  knees  and  nether  extremities.  It 
is  my  lot  to  be  blessed  with  abundance  of  stature,  and  none  but 
tall  persons  can  appreciate  the  misery  of  sitting  for  hours  with 


THE  SEINE   AND    PARIS.  363 

their  joints  in  an  immovable  vice.  The  closeness  of  the  atmos- 
phere— for  the  passengers  would  not  permit  the  windows  to  be 
opened  for  fear  of  taking  cold — combined  with  loss  of  sleep,  made 
me  so  drows}'  that  my  head  was  continually  falling  on  my  next 
neighbor,  who,  being  a  heavy  country  lady,  thrust  it  indignantly 
away.  I  would  then  try  my  best  to  keep  it  up  awhile,  but  it 
would  droop  gradually,  till  the  crash  of  a  bonnet  or  a  smart  bump 
against  some  other  head  would  recall  me,  for  a  moment,  to  con- 
sciousness. 

We  passed  Joigny,  on  the  Yonne,  Sens,  with  its  glorious  old 
cathedral,  and  at  dusk  reached  Montereau,  on  the  Seine.  This 
was  the  scene  of  one  of  Napoleon's  best  victories,  on  his  return 
from  Elba.  In  driving  over  the  bridge,  I  looked  down  on  the 
swift  and  swollen  current,  and  hoped  that  its  hue  might  never  be 
darkened  again  so  fearfully  as  the  last  sixty  years  have  witnessed. 
No  river  in  Europe  has  such  an  association  connected  with  it. 
We  think  of  the  Danube,  for  its  majesty,  of  the  Rhine,  for  its  wild 
beauty,  but  of  the  Seine — for  its  blood  ! 

In  coming  thus  to  the  last  famed  stream  I  shall  visit  in  Europe, 
I  might  say,  with  Barry  Cornwall : 

"  We've  sailed  through  banks  of  green, 

Where  the  wild  waves  fret  and  quiver ; 
And  we've  down  the  Danube  been — 

The  dark,  deep,  thundering  river ! 
We've  thridded  the  Elbe  and  Rhone, 

The  Tiber  and  blood  dyed  Seine, 
And  we've  been  Avhere  the  blue  Garonne 

Goes  laughing  to  meet  the  main !" 

All  that  night  did  we  endure  squeezing  and  suffocation,  and  no 
morn  was  ever  more  welcome  than  that  which  revealed  to  us 
Paris.  With  matted  hair,  wild,  glaring  eyes,  and  dusty  and  di- 
shevelled habiliments,  we  entered  the  gay  capital,  and  blessed 
every  stone  upon  which  we  placed  our  feel,  in  the  fulness  of  our 

joy- 
In  paying  our  fare  at  Auxerre,  I  was  obliged  to  use  a  draft  on 

the  banker,  Rougemont  de  Lowenberg.     The  ignorant  conductor 

hesitated  to  change  this,  but  permitted  us  to  go,  on  condition  of 

keeping  it  until  we  should  arrive.     Therefore,  on  getting  out  of 


«3 


64  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  diligence,  after  forty-eight  hours  of  sleepless  and  fasting  mis- 
ery, the  factfAir  of  the  office  went  with  me  to  get  it  paid,  leaving 
B to  wait  for  us.  I  knew  nothing  of  Paris,  and  this  merci- 
less man  kept  me  for  three  hours  at  his  heels,  following  him  on 
all  Ms  errands,  before  he  did  mine,  in  that  time  traversing  the 
whole  length  of  the  city,  in  order  to  leave  a  chivre-feuille  at  an 
aristocratic  residence  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  Yet  even 
combined  weariness  and  hunger  could  not  prevent  me  from  look- 
ing with  vivid  interest  down  a  long  avenue,  at  the  Column  of  the 
place  Vendome,  in  passing,  and  gazing  up  in  wonder  at  the  splen- 
did portico  of  the  Madeleine.  But  of  anything  else  I  have  a  very 
faint  remembrance.  "  You  can  eat  breakfast,  now,  1  think,"  said 
he,  when  we  returned,  "  we  have  walked  more  than  four  leagues  !" 
.  I  know  we  will  be  excused,  that,  instead  of  hurrying  away  to 
Notre  Dame  or  the  Louvre,  we  sat  down  quietly  to  a  most  com- 
plete breakfast.  Even  the  most  romantic  must  be  forced  to  con- 
fess that  admiration  does  not  sit  well  on  an  empty  stomach.  Out 
first  walk  was  to  a  bath,  and  then,  with  complexions  several 
shades  lighter,  and  limbs  that  felt  as  if  lifted  by  invisible  wings, 
we  hurried  away  to  the  Post  Office.  I  seized  the  welcome  mis- 
sives from  my  far  home,  with  a  beating  heart,  and  hastening  back, 
read  till  the  words  became  indistinct  in  the  twilight. 


PARIS.  365 


CHAPTER    XLV. 


POETICAL    SCENES    IN    PARIS. 


What  a  gay  little  world  in  miniature  this  is  !  I  wonder  not 
that  the  French,  with  their  exuberant  gaiety  of  spirit,  should 
revel  in  its  ceaseless  tides  of  pleasure,  as  if  it  were  an  earthly 
Elysium.  I  feel  already  the  mfluence  of  its  cheerful  atmosphere, 
and  have  rarely  threaded  the  crowds  of  a  stranger  city,  with  so 
light  a  heart  as  I  do  now  daily,  on  the  thronged  banks  of  the 
Seine.  And  yet  it  would  be  difficult  to  describe  wherein  consists 
this  agreeable  peculiarity.  You  can  find  streets  as  dark  and 
crooked  and  dirty  anywhere  in  Germany,  and  squares  and  gar- 
dens as  gay  and  sunny  beyond  the  Alps,  and  yet  they  would  af- 
fect you  far  differently.  You  could  not,  as  here,  divest  yourself 
of  every  particle  of  sad  or  serious  thought  and  be  content  to  gaze 
for  hours  on  the  showy  scene,  without  an  idea  beyond  the  present 
moment.  It  must  be  that  the  spirit  of  the  croud  is  magnetically 
contagious. 

The  evening  of  our  arrival  we  wa'lked  out  past  the  massive 
and  stately  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  took  a  promenade  along  the 
Quais.  The  shops  facing  the  river  presented  a  scene  of  great 
splendor.  Several  of  the  Quais  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Seine 
are  occupied  almost  entirely  by  jewellers,  the  windows  of  whose 
shops,  arranged  in  a  style  of  the  greatest  taste,  make  a  dazzling 
display.  Rows  of  gold  watches  and  chains  are  arranged  across  the 
crystal  panes,  and  heaped  in  pyramids  on  long  glass  slabs  ;  cy- 
lindrical wheels  of  wire,  hung  with  jewelled  breastpins  and  ear- 
rings, turn  slowly  around  by  some  invisible  agency,  displaying 
row  after  row  of  their  glittering  treasures. 

From  the  centre  of  the  Pont  Neuf,  we  could  see  for  a  long  dis- 
tance up  and  down  the  river.  The  different  bridges  traced  on 
either  side  a  dozen  starry  lines  through  the  dark  air,  and  a  con- 


366  VIEWS   A-FOOT. 


tinued  blaze  lighted  the  two  shores  in  their  whole  length,  reveal- 
ing the  outline  of  the  Isle  da  la  Cite.  I  recognized  the  Palaces 
of  the  Louvre  and  the  Tuileries  in  the  dusky  mass  beyond. 
Eastward,  looming  against  the  dark  sky,  I  could  faintly  trace  the 
black  towers  of  Notre  Dame.  The  rushing  of  the  swift  waters 
below  mingled  with  the  rattling  of  a  thousand  carts  and  carriages, 
and  the  confusion  of  a  thousand  voices,  till  it  seemed  like  some 
grand  nightly  festival. 

I  first  saw  Notre  Dame  by  moonlight.  The  shadow  of  its  stu- 
pendous front  was  thrown  directly  towards  me,  hiding  the  innu- 
merable lines  of  the  ornamental  sculpture  which  cover  its  tall, 
square  towers.  I  walked  forward  until  the  interlacing,  Moorish 
arches  between  them  stood  fuli  against  the  moon,  and  the  light, 
struggling  through  the  quaint  openings  of  the  tracery,  streamed 
in  silver  lines  down  into  the  shadow.  The  square  before  it  was 
quite  deserted,  for  it  stands  on  a  lonely  part  of  the  Isle  de  la  Cite, 
and  it  looked  thus  far  more  majestic  and  solemn  than  in  the  glar- 
ing daylight. 

The  great  quadrangle  of  the  Tuileries  encloses  the  Place  du 
Carrousel,  in  the  centre  of  which  stands  a"  triumphal  arch, 
erected  by  Napoleon  after  his  Italian  victories.  Standing  in 
the  middle  of  this  arch,  you  look  through  the  open  passage  in 
the  central  building  of  the  palace,  into  the  Gardens  beyond. 
Further  on,  in  a  direct  line,  the  middle  avenue  of  the  Gardens 
extends  away  to  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  where  the  Obelisk  of 
Luxor  makes  a  perpendicular  line  through  your  vista  ;  still  fur- 
ther goes  the  broad  avenue  through  the  Elysian  Fields,  until  afar 
off,  the  Arc  de  1'  Etoile,  two  miles  distant,  closes  this  view  through 
tke  palace  doorway. 

Let  us  go  through  it,  and  on,  to  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  re- 
serving the  Gardens  for  another  time.  What  is  there  in  Europe 
— nay,  in  the  world, — equal  to  this  ?  In  the  centre,  the  mighty 
obelisk  of  red  granite  pierces  the  sky, — on  either  hand  showers 
of  silver  spray  are  thrown  up  from  splendid  bronze  fountains — 
statues  and  pillars  of  gilded  bronze  sweep  in  a  grand  circle  around 
the  square,  and  on  each  side  magnificent  vistas  lead  the  eye  off, 
and  combine  the  distant  with  the  near,  to  complete  this  unparal- 
leled view  !     Eastv/ard,  beyond  tLe  tall  trees  in  the  garden  of  the 


SOLDIERS   OF  THE  EMPIRE.  367 

Tuileries,  rises  the  long  front  of  the  Palace,  with  the  tri-color 
floating  above  ;  westward,  in  front  of  us,  is  the  Forest  of  the 
Elysian  Fields,  with  the  arch  of  triumph  nearly  a  mile  and  a 
half  distant,  looking  down  from  the  end  of  the  avenue,  at  the 
Barriere  de  Neuilly.  To  the  right  and  left  are  the  marble  fronts 
of  the  Church  of  the  Madeleine  and  the  Chamber  of  Deputies, 
the  latter  on  the  other  side  of  the  Seine.  Thus  the  groves  and 
gardens  of  Paris — the  palace  of  her  kings — the  proud  monu- 
ment of  her  sons'  glory — and  the  masterpieces  of  modern 
French  architecture  are  all  embraced  in  this  one  splendid  coup 

Following  the  motley  multitude  to  the  bridge,  I  crossed  and 
made  my  way  to  the  Hotel  des  Invalides.  Along  the  esplanade, 
playful  companies  of  children  were  running  and  tumbling  in 
their  sports  over  the  green  turf,  which  was  as  fresh  as  a  meadow ; 
while,  not  the  least  interesting  feature  ot  the  scene,  numbers  of 
scarred  and  disabled  veterans,  in  the  livery  of  the  Hospital, 
basked  in  the  sunshine,  watching  with  quiet  satisfaction  the  gam- 
bols of  the  second  generation  they  have  seen  arise.  What  tales 
could  they  not  tell,  those  v/rinkled  and  feeble  old  men  !  What 
visions  of  Marengo  and  Austerlitz  and  Borodino  shift  still  with  a 
fiery  vividness  through  their  fading  memories  !  Some  may  have 
left  a  limb  on  the  Lybian  desert ;  and  the  sabre  of  the  Cossack 
may  have  scarred  the  brows  of  others.  They  witnessed  the 
rising  and  setting  of  that  great  meteor,  which  intoxicated  France 
with  such  a  blaze  of  power  and  glory,  and  now,  when  the  recollec- 
tion of  that  wonderful  period  seems  almost  like  a  stormy  dream, 
thev  are  left  to  aruard  the  ashes  of  their  ancient  General,  brouiiht 
back  from  his  exile  to  rest  in  the  bosom  of  his  own  French  peo- 
ple. It  was  to  me  a  touching  and  exciting  thing,  to  look  on  those 
whose  eyes  had  witnessed  the  filling  up  of  such  a  fated  leaf  in 
the  world's  history. 

Entrance  is  denied  to  the  tomb  of  Napoleon  until  it  is  finished, 
which  will  not  be  for  three  or  four  years  yet.  I  went,  however, 
into  the  "Church  of  the  Banners" — a  large  chapel,  hung  with 
two  or  three  hundred  flags  taken  by  the  armies  of  the  Empire. 
The  greater  part  of  them  were  Austrian  and  Russian.  It  ap- 
peared to  be  empty  when  I  entered,  but  on  looking  around,  I  saw 


368  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


an  old  gray-headed  soldier  kneeling  at  one  side.  His  head  was 
bowed  over  his  hands,  and  he  seemed  perfectly  absorbed  in  his 
thoughts.  Perhaps  the  very  tattered  banners  which  hung  down 
motionless  above  his  head,  he  might  have  assisted  in  conquering. 
I  looked  a  moment  on  those  eloquent  trophies,  and  then  noiselessly 
withdrew. 

There  is  at  least  one  solemn  spot  near  Paris;  the  laughing 
winds  that  come  up  from  the  merry  city  sink  into  sighs  under  the 
cypress  boughs  of  Pere  Lachaise.  And  yet  it  is  not  a  gloomy 
place,  but  full  of  a  serious  beauty,  fitting  for  a  city  of  the  dead. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  sunny  afternoon  when  1  first  entered  its 
gate  and  walked  slowly  up  the  hill,  between  rows  of  tombs, 
gleaming  white  amid  the  heavy  foliage,  while  the  green  turf 
around  them  was  just  beginning  to  be  starred  by  the  opening  dai- 
sies. From  the  little  chapel  on  its  summit  I  looked  back  at  the 
blue  spires  of  the  city,  whose  roar  of  life  dwindled  to  a  low  mur- 
mur. Countless  pyramids,  obelisks  and  urns,  rising  far  and  wide 
above  the  cedars  and  cypresses,  showed  the  extent  of  the  splendid 
necropolis,  which  is  inhabited  by  pale,  shrouded  emigrants  from 
its  living  sister  below.  The  only  sad  part  of  the  view,  was  the 
slope  of  the  hill  alloted  to  the  poor,  where  legions  of  plain  black 
crosses  are  drawn  up  into  solid  squares  on  its  side  and  stand  alone 
and  gloomy — the  advanced  guard  of  the  army  of  Death  !  I  mused 
over  the  tombs  of  Moliere  and  La  Fontaine ;  Massena,  Mortier 
and  Lefebre  ;  General  Foy  and  Casimir  Perier ;  and  finally  de- 
scended to  the  shrine  where  Abelard  reposes  by  the  side  of  his 
Heloise.  The  old  sculptured  tomb,  brought  away  from  the  Para- 
clete,  still  covers  their  remains,  and  pious  hands  (of  lovers,  per- 
haps,) keep  fresh  the  wreaths  of  immortelles  above  their  marble 
effigies. 

In  the  Theatre  Fran9ais,  I  saw  Rachel,  the  actress.  She  ap- 
peared in  the  character  of"  Virginia,"  in  a  tragedy  of  that  name, 
by  the  poet  Latour.  Her  appearance  as  she  came  upon  the 
stage  alone,  convinced  me  she  would  not  belie  her  renown.  She 
is  rather  small  in  stature,  with  dark,  piercing  eyes  and  rich  black 
hair ;  her  lips  are  full,  but  delicately  formed,  and  her  features 
have  a  marked  yet  flexible  outline,  which  conveys  the  minutest 
shades  of  expression.     Her  voice  is  clear,  deep  and  thrilling,  and 


FRAGMENT   OF  THE  ILIAD.  369 

like  some  grand  strain  of  music,  there  is  power  and  meaning  in 
its  slightest  modulations.  Her  gestures  embody  ihe  very  spirit 
of  the  character;  she  has  so  perfectly  attained  that  rare  harmony 
of  thought,  sound  and  action,  or  rather,  that  unity  of  feeling  which 
renders  them  harmonious,  that  her  acting  seems  the  unstudied, 
irrepressible  impulse  of  her  soul.  With  the  first  sentence  she 
uttered,  1  forgot  Rachel.  I  only  saw  the  innocent  Roman  girl  ; 
I  awaited  in  suspense  and  with  a  powerful  sympathy,  the  devel- 
opement  of  the  oft-told  tragedy.  My  blood  grew  w^rm  with  in- 
dignation when  the  words  of  Appius  roused  her  to  anger,  and  I 
could  scarcely  keep  back  my  tears,  when,  with  a  voice  broken  by 
sobs,  she  bade  farewell  to  the  protecting  gods  of  her  father's  hearth. 

Among  the  bewildering  variety  of  ancient  ornaments  and  im- 
plements in  the  Egyptian  Gallery  of  the  Louvre,  I  saw  an  object 
of  startling  interest.  A  fragment  of  the  Iliad,  written  nearly 
three  thousand  years  ago !  One  may  even  dare  to  conjecture 
that  the  torn  and  half-mouldered  slip  of  papyrus,  upon  which  he 
gazes,  may  have  been  taken  down  from  the  lips  of  the  immortal 
Chian.  The  eyes  look  on  those  faded  characters,  and  across  the 
great  gulf  of  Time,  the  soul  leaps  into  the  Past,  brought  into 
shadowy  nearness  by  a  mirage  of  the  mind.  There,  as  in  the 
desert,  images  start  up,  vivid,  yet  of  a  vague  and  dreamy  beau- 
ty. We  see  the  olive  groves  of  Greece — white-robed  youths  and 
maidens  sit  in  the  shade  of  swaying  boughs — and  one  of  them 
reads  aloud,  in  words  that  sound  like  the  clashing  of  shields,  the 
deeds  ot  Achilles. 

As  we  step  out  the  western  portal  of  the  Tuileries,  a  beautiful 
scene  greets  us.  We  look  on  the  palace  garden,  fragrant  with 
flowers  and  classic  with  bronze  copies  of  ancient  sculpture.  Be- 
yond this,  broad  gravel  walks  divide  the  flower-bordered  lawns 
and  ranks  of  marble  demigods  and  heroes  look  down  on  the  joyous 
crowd.  Children  troll  their  hoops  along  the  avenues  or  skip  the 
rope  under  the  clipped  lindens,  whose  boughs  are  now  tinged  a 
pale  yellow  by  the  bursting  buds.  The  swans  glide  about  on  a 
pond  in  the  centre,  begging  bread  of  the  bystanders,  who  watch  a 
miniature  ship  which  the  soft  breeze  carries  steadily  across. 
Paris  is  unseen,  but  heard,  on  every  side ;  only  the  Column  of 
Luxor  and  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  rise  blue   and  grand  above  the 

17* 


370  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


top  of  the  forest.     What   with   the  sound   of  voices,  the   merry 

laufhter  of  the  children   and   a  host  of  smilino-   faces,  the  scene 

touches  a  happy  chord  in  one's  heart,  and  he  mingles  with  it,  lost 

in  pleasant  reverie,  till  the  sounds  fade  away  with  the  fading 

liaht. 

Just  below  the  Baths  of  the  Louvre,  there  are  several  floating 

barges  belonging  to  the  washer- women,  anchored  at  the  foot  of 
the  great  stone  staircase  leading  down  to  the  water.  They  stand 
there  day  after  day,  beating  their  clothes  upon  flat  boards  and 
rinsing  them  in  the  Seine.  One  day  there  seemed  to  have  been 
a  wedding  or  some  other  cause  of  rejoicing  among  them,  for  a 
large  number  of  the  youngest  were  talking  in  great  glee  on  one 
of  the  platforms  of  the  staircase,  while  a  handsome,  German-look- 
ing youth  stood  near,  with  a  guitar  slung  around  his  neck.  He 
struck  up  a  lively  air,  and  ihe  girls  fell  into  a  droll  sort  of  a 
dance.  They  went  at  it  heavily  and  roughly  enough,  but  made 
up  in  good  humor  what  they  lacked  in  grace ;  the  older  members 
of  the  craft  looked  up  from  their  work  with  satisfaction  and  many 
shouts  of  applause  were  sent  down  to  them  from  the  spectators 
on  the  Quai  and  the  Pont  Neuf.  Not  content  with  this,  they 
seized  on  some  luckless  men  who  were  descending  the  steps,  and 
clasping  them  with  their  powerful  right  arms,  spun  them  around 
like  so  many  tops  and  sent  them  whizzing  off*  at  a  tangent.  Loud 
bursts  of  laughter  greeted  this  performance,  and  the  stout  river- 
maidens  returned  to  their  dance  with  redoubled  spirit. 

Yesterday,  the  famous  procession  of  the  "  b(Buf  gras'''  took 
place  for  the  second  time,  with  great  splendor.  The  order  of 
march  had  been  duly  announced  beforehand,  and  by  noon  all  the 
streets  and  squares  through  which  it  was  to  pass,  were  crowded 
with  waiting  spectators.  Mounted  gens  d'armes  rode  constantly 
to  and  fro,  to  direct  the  passage  of  vehicles  and  keep  an  open 
thoroughfare.  Thousands  of  country  peasants  poured  into  the 
city,  the  boys  of  whom  were  seen  in  all  directions,  blowing  dis- 
tressingly through  hollow  ox-horns.  Altogether,  the  spirit  of 
nonsense  which  animated  the  crowd,  displayed  itself  very  amu- 
sino-lv. 

A  few  mounted  guards  led  the  procession,  followed  by  a  band 
of  music.    Then  appeared  Roman  lictors  and  ofiicers  of  sacrifice, 


THE   CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS.  371 

leading  Dagobcrt,  the  famous  bull  of  Normandy,  destined  to  the 
honor  of  beino;  slauijhtered  as  the  Carnival  beef.  He  trod  rather 
tenderly,  finding,  no  doubt,  a  difference  between  the  meadows  of 
Caen  and  the  pavements  o-f  Paris,  and  I  thought  he  would  have 
been  willing  to  forego  his  gilded  horns  and  flowery  crown,  to  get 
back  there  again.  His  weight  was  said  to  be  four  thousand  pounds, 
and  the  bills  pompously  declared  that  he  had  no  rival  in  France, 
except  the  elephant  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantcs. 

After  him  came  the  farmer  by  v/hom  he  was  raised,  and  M. 
Roland,  the  butcher  of  the  carnival,  followed  by  a  hundred  of  the 
same  craft,  dressed  as  cavaliers  of  the  different  ages  of  France. 
They  made  a  very  showy  appearance,  although  the  faded  velvet 
and  soiled  tinsel  of  their  mantles  were  rather  too  apparent  by 
daylight. 

After  all  these  had  gone  by,  came  an  enormous  triumphal  car, 
very  profusely  covered  with  gilding  and  ornamental  flowers.  A 
fellow  with  long  woollen  hair  ai:id  beard,  intended  to  represent 
Time,  acted  as  driver.  In  the  car,  under  a  gilded  canopy,  re- 
posed a  number  of  persons,  in  blue  silk  smocks  and  yellow  "  flesh- 
tights,"  said  to  be  Venus,  Apollo,  the  Graces,  &c.  but  I  endea- 
vored in  vain  to  distinguish  one  divinity  from  another.  However, 
three  children  on  the  back  seat,  dressed  in  the  same  style,  with 
the  addition  of  long  flaxy  ringlets,  made  very  passable  Cupids. 
This  closed  the  march  ;  which  passed  onward  towards  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde,  accompanied  by  the  sounds  of  music  and  the 
shouts  of  the  mob.  The  broad,  splendid  line  of  Boulevards,  which 
describe  a  semi-circle  around  tiie  heart  of  the  city,  were  crowded, 
and  for  the  whole  distance  of  three  miles,  it  required  no  slight 
labor  to  make  one's  way.  People  in  masks  and  fancy  costumes 
were  continually  passing  and  re-passing,  and  I  detected  in  more 
than  one  of  the  carriages,  cheeks  rather  too  fair  to  suit  the  slouched 
hunter's  hats  which  shaded  them.  It  seemed  as  if  all  Paris  was 
taking  a  holiday,  and  resolved  to  make  the  most  of  it. 


372  VIEWS  A-FOOT- 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    NORMANDY. 


After  a  residence  of  five  weeks,  which,  in  spite  of  some  few 
troubles,  passed  away  quickly  and  delightfully,  I  turned  my  back 
on  Paris.  It  was  not  regret  1  experienced  on  taking  my  seat  in 
the  cars  for  Versailles,  but  that  feeling  of  reluctance  with  which 
we  leave  places  whose  brightness  and  gaiety  force  the  mind  away 
from  serious  toil.  Steam,  however,  cuts  short  all  sentiment,  and 
in  much  less  time  than  it  takes  to  bid  farewell  to  a  German,  we 
had  whizzed  past  the  Place  d^Europe,  through  the  barrier,  and 
were  watching  the  spires  start  up  from  the  receding  city,  on  the 
way  to  St.  Cloud. 

At  Versailles  I  spent  three  hours  in  a  hasty  walk  through  the 
palace,  which  allowed  but  a  bare  glance  at  the  gorgeous  paintings 
of  Horace  Vernet.  His  "  Taking  of  Constantine"  has  the  vivid 
look  of  reality.  The  white  houses  shine  in  the  sun,  and  from  the 
bleached  earth  to  the  blue  and  dazzling  sky,  there  seems  to  hang 
a  heavy,  scorching  atmosphere.  The  white  smoke  of  the  artil- 
lery curls  almost  visibly  off  the  canvass,  and  the  cracked  and 
half-sprung  walls  look  as  if  about  to  topple  down  on  the  besiegers. 
One  series  of  halls  is  devoted  to  the  illustration  of  the  knightly 
chronicles  of  France,  from  the  days  of  Charlemagne  to  those  of 
Bayard  and  Gaston  de  Foix.  Among  these  pictured  legends,  I 
looked  with  the  deepest  interest  on  that  of  the  noble  girl  of  Orleans. 
Her  countenance — the  same  in  all  these  pictures  and  in  a  beau- 
tiful statue  of  her,  which  stands  in  one  of  the  corridors — is  said 
to  be  copied  from  an  old  and  well-authenticated  portrait.  United 
to  the  sweetness  and  purity  of  peasant  beauty,  she  has  the  lofty 
brow  and  inspired  expression  of  a  prophetess.  There  is  a  soft 
light  in  her  full  blue  eye  that  does  not  belong  to  earth.  I  wonder 
not  the  soldiery  deemed  her  chosen  by  God  to  lead  them  to  sue- 


WALKING  IN  NORMANDY.  373 

cessful  battle  ;  had  I  lived  in  those  times  I  could  have  followed 
her  consecrated  banner  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  In  the  statue, 
she  stands  musing,  with  her  head  drooping  forward,  as  if  the 
weight  of  the  breastplate  oppressed  her  woman's  heart ;  the  mel- 
ancholy soul  which  shines  through  the  marble  seems  to  forebode 
the  fearful  winding-up  of  her  eventful  destiny. 

The  afternoon  was  somewhat  advanced,  by  the  time  I  had  seen 
the  palace  and  gardens.  After  a  hurried  dinner  at  a  restaurant, 
I  shouldered  my  knapsack  and  took  the  road  to  St.  Germain. 
The  day  was  gloomy  and  cheerless,  and  I  should  have  felt  very 
lonely  but  for  the  thought  of  soon  reaching  England.  There  is 
no  time  of  the  year  more  melancholy  than  a  cold,  cloudy  day  in 
March  ;  whatever  may  be  the  beauties  of  pedestrian  traveling  in 
fairer  seasons,  my  experience  dictates  that  during  winter  storms 
and  March  glooms,  it  had  better  be  dispensed  witli.  However,  I 
pushed  on  to  St.  Germain,  threaded  its  long  streets,  looked  down 
from  the  height  over  its  magnificent  tract  of  forest  and  turned  west- 
ward down  the  Seine.  Owing  to  the  scantiness  of  villages,  I  was 
obliged  to  walk  an  hour  and  a  half  in  the  wind  and  darkness,  be- 
fore I  reached  a  solitary  inn.  As  I  opened  the  door  and  asked 
for  lodging,  the  landlady  inquired  if  I  had  the  necessary  papers. 
I  answered  in  the  affirmative  and  was  admitted.  While  I  was 
eating  supper,  they  prepared  their  meal  on  the  other  end  of  the 
small  table  and  sat  down  together.  They  fell  into  the  error,  so 
common  to  ignorant  persons,  of  thinking  a  foreigner  could  not 
understand  them,  and  began  talking  quite  unconcernedly  about 
me.  "  Why  don't  he  take  the  railroad  ?"  said  the  old  man  :  "  he 
must  have  very  little  money — it  would  be  bad  for  us  if  he  had 
none."  "  Oh  !"  remarked  his  son,  "  if  he  had  none,  he  would 
not  be  sitting  there  so  quiet  and  unconcerned."  I  thought  there 
was  some  knowledge  of  human  nature  in  this  remark.  "  And 
besides,"  added  the  landlaay,  "  there  is  no  danger  for  us,  for  we 
have  his  passport."  Of  course  I  enjoyed  this  in  secret,  and  men- 
tally pardoned  their  suspicions,  when  I  reflected  that  the  hio-h 
roads  between  Paris  and  London  are  frequented  by  many  impos- 
ters,  which  makes  the  people  naturally  mistrustful.  I  walked 
all  the  next  day  through  a  beautiful  and  richly  cultivated  coun- 
try.    The  early  fruit  trees  were   bursting  into  bloom,   and  the 


S74  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


farmers  led  out  their  cattle  to  pasturage  in  the  fresh  meadows. 
The  scenery  must  be  delightful  ir  summer — worthy  of  all  that 
has  been  said  or  sung  about  lovely  Normandy.  On  the  morning 
of  the  third  day,  before  reaching  Rouen,  1  saw  at  a  distance  the 
remains  of  Chateau  Galliard,  the  favorite  castle  of  Richard  Coeur 
de  Lion.  Rouen  breathes  everywhere  of  the  ancient  times  of 
Normandy.  Nothing  can  be  more  picturesque  than  its  quaint, 
irregular  wooden  houses,  and  the  low,  mossy  mills,  spanning  the 
clear  streams  which  rush  throu2;h  its  streets.  The  Cathedral, 
with  its  four  towers,  rises  from  amono;  the  clustered  cottages  like 
a  giant  rock,  split  by  the  lightning  and  worn  by  the  rains  of  cen- 
turies is  into  a  thousand  fantastic  shapes. 

Resuming  my  walk  in  the  afternoon,  I  climbed  the  heights  west 
of  the  city,  and  after  passing  through  a  suburb  four  or  five  miles 
in  length,  entered  the  vale  of  the  Cailly.  This  is  one  of  the 
sweetest  scenes  in  France.  It  lies  among  the  woody  hills  like  a 
Paradise,  with  its  velvet  meadows  and  villas  and  breathing  gar- 
dens.  The  grass  was  starred  with  daisies  and  if  I  took  a  step 
into  the  oak  and  chesnut  woods,  I  trampled  on  thousands  of  anem- 
ones and  fragrant  daifodils.  The  upland  plain,  stretching  inward 
from  the  coast,  wears  a  different  character.  As  I  ascended,  to- 
wards evening,  and  walked  over  its  monotonous  swells,  I  felt 
almost  homesick  beneath  its  saddening  influence.  The  sun, 
hazed  over  with  dull  clouds,  gave  out  that  cold  and  lifeless  light 
which  is  more  lonely  than  complete  darkness.  The  wind,  sweep- 
ing dismally  over  the  fields,  sent  clouds  of  blinding  dust  down 
the  road,  and  as  it  passed  through  the  forests,  the  myriads  of  fine 
twigs  sent  up  a  sound  as  deep  and  grand  as  the  roar  of  a  roused 
ocean.  Every  chink  of  the  Norman  cottage  where  I  slept,  whis- 
tled most  drearily,  and  as  I  looked  out  the  little  window  of  my 
room,  the  trees  were  swaying  in  the  gloom,  and  long,  blacft  clouds 
scudded  across  the  sky.  Though  my  bed  was  poor  and  hard,  it 
was  a  sublime  sound  that  cradled  me  into  slumber.  Homer  might 
have  used  it  as  the  lullaby  of  Jove. 

My  last  day  on  the  continent  came.  I  rose  early  and  walked 
over  the  hills  towards  Dieppe.  The  scenery  grew  more  bleak  as 
1  approached  the  sea,  but  the  low  and  sheltered  valleys  preserved 
the  pastoral  look  of  the  interior.     In  the  afternoon,  as  I  climbed 


CROSSING   THE   CHANNEL.  375 

a  long,  elevated  ridge,  over  which  a  strong  northwester  was  blow- 
ing,  I  was  struck  with  a  beautiful  rustic  church,  in  one  of  the 
dells  below  me.  While  admiring  its  neat  tower  I  had  gained  un- 
consciously the  summit  of  the  hill,  and  on  turning  suddenly 
around,  lo !  there  was  the  glorious  old  Atlantic  stretching  far  be- 
fore and  around  me  !  A  shower  was  sweeping  mistily  along  the 
horizon  and  I  could  trace  the  white  line  of  the  breakers  that 
foamed  at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs.  The  scene  came  over  me  like  a 
vivid  electric  shock,  and  I  gave  an  involuntary  shout,  which 
might  have  been  heard  in  all  the  valleys  around.  After  a  year 
and  a  half  of  wandering  over  the  continent,  that  gray  ocean  was 
something  to  be  revered  and  loved,  for  it  clasped  the  shores  of  my 
native  America. 

I  entered  Dieppe  in  a  heavy  shower,  and  after  finding  an  inn 
suited  to  my  means  and  obtaining  a  permis  rV emharquement  from 
the  police  office,  I  went  out  to  the  battlements  and  looked  again  on 
the  sea.  The  landlord  promised  to  call  me  in  time  for  the  boat, 
but  my  anxiety  waked  me  sooner,  and  mistaking  the  strokes  of 
the  cathedial  bell,  I  shouldered  my  knapsack  and  went  down  to 
the  wharf  at  one  o'clock.  No  one  was  stirring  on  board  the  boat, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  pace  the  silent,  gloomy  streets  of  the  town 
for  two  hours.  I  watched  the  steamer  glide  out  on  the  rainy 
channel,  and  turning  into  the  topmost  berth,  drew  the  sliding  cur- 
tain and  strove  to  keep  out  cold  and  sea-sickness.  But  it  was 
unavailing  ;  a  heavy  storm  of  snow  and  rain  rendered  our  passage 
so  dreary  that  I  did  not  stir  until  we  were  approaching  the  chain 
pier  of  Brighton. 

I  looked  out  on  the  foggy  shores  of  England  with  a  feeling  of 
relief;  my  tongue  would  now  be  freed  from  the  difficult  bondage 
of  foreign  languages,  and  my  ears  be  rejoiced  with  the  music  of 
my  own.  After  two  hours'  delay  at  the  Custom  House,  I  took 
my  seat  in  an  open  car  for  London.  The  day  was  dull  and  cold  ; 
the  sun  resembled  a  milky  blotch  in  the  midst  of  a  leaden  sky.  I 
sat  and  shivered,  as  ^ve  flew  onv/ard,  amid  the  rich,  cultivated 
English  scenery.  At  last  the  fog  grew  thicker  ;  the  road  was 
carried  over  the  tops  of  houses ;  the  familiar  domd*  of  St.  Paul's 
stood  out  above  the  sp.res ;  and  I  was  again  in  London ' 


376  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

LaCKHART,  BERNARD    BARTON    AND    CROLY LONDON    CHIMES   AND 

GREENWICH    FAIR. 

My  circumstances,  on  arriving  at  London,  were  again  very 
reduced.  A  franc  and  a  Iialf  constituted  the  whole  of  my  funds. 
This,  joined  to  the  knowledge  of  London  expenses,  rendered  in- 
stant exertion  necessary,  to  prevent  still  greater  embarrassment. 
I  called  on  a  printer  the  next  morning,  hoping  to  procure  work, 
but  found,  as  I  had  no  documents  with  me  to  show  I  had  served  a 
regular  apprenticeship,  this  would  be  extremely  difficult,  although 
workmen  were  in  great  demand.  Mr.  Putnam,  however,  on 
whom  I  had  previously  called,  gave  me  employment  for  a  time  in 
his  publishing  establishment,  and  thus  I  was  fortunately  enabled 
to  await  the  arrival  of  a  remittance  from  home. 

Mrs.  Trollope,  whom  I  met  in  Florence,  kindly  gave  me  a 
letter  to  Murray,  the  publisher,  and  I  visited  him  soon  after  my 
arrival.  In  his  library  I  saw  the  original  portraits  of  Byron, 
Moore,  Campbell  and  the  other  authors  who  were  intimate  with 
him  and  his  father.  A  day  or  two  afterwards  I  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  breakfast  with  Lockhart  and  Bernard  Barton,  at  the  house 
of  the  former.  Mr.  Murray,  through  whom  the  invitation  was 
given,  accompanied  me  there.  As  it  was  late  when  we  arrived 
at  Regent's  Park,  we  found  them  waiting,  and  sat  down  immedi- 
ately to  breakfast. 

I  was  much  pleased  with  Lockhart's  appearance  and  manners. 
He  has  a  noble,  manly  countenance — in  fact,  the  handsomest 
English  face  I  ever  saw — a  quick,  dark  eye  and  an  ample  fore- 
head, shaded  by  locks  which  show,  as  yet,  but  few  threads  of 
gray.  There  is  a  peculiar  charm  in  his  rich,  soft  voice ;  espe- 
cially when  teciting  poetry,  it  has  a  clear,  organ-like  vibration, 
which  thrills  deliciously  on  the  ear.  His  daughter,  who  sat  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  is  a  most  lovely  and  amiable  girL 


BERNARD   BARTON.  377 

Bernard  Barton,  who  is  now  quite  an  old  man,  is  a  very  lively 
and  sociable  Friend.  His  head  is  gray  and  almost  bald,  but 
there  is  still  plenty  of  fire  in  his  eyes  and  life  in  his  limbs.  His 
many  kind  and  amiable  qualities  endear  him  to  a  large  circle  of 
literary  friends.  He  still  continues  writing,  and  within  the  last 
year  has  brought  out  a  volume  of  simple,  touching  "  Household 
Verses."  A  picture  of  cheerful  and  contented  old  age  has  never 
been  more  briefly  and  beautifully  drawn,  than  in  the  following 
lines,  which  he  sent  me,  in  answer  to  my  desire  to  possess  one  of 
his  poems  in  his  own  hand  : 

STANZAS. 

I  feel  that  I  am  growing  old, 

Nor  wish,  to  hide  that  truth  ; 
Conscious  my  heart  is  not  more  cold 

Than  in  my  by -gone  youth. 

I  cannot  roam  the  country  round, 

As  I  was  wont  to  do ; 
My  feet  a  scantier  circle  bound, 

My  eyes  a  narrower  view. 

But  on  my  mental  vision  rise 

Bright  scenes  of  beanty  still: 
Morn's  splendor,  evening's  glowing  skies, 

Valley,  and  grove,  and  hill. 

Nor  can  infirmities  o'erwhelm 

The  purer  pleasures  brought 
From  the  immortal  spirit's  realm 

Of  Feeling  and  of  Thought ! 

My  heart !  let  not  dismay  or  doubt 

In  thee  an  entrance  win ! 
Thou  hast  enjoyed  thyself  without — 

Now  seek  thy  joy  within  ! 

During  breakfast  he  related  to  us  a  pleasant  anecdote  of  Scott. 
He  once  wrote  to  the  poet  in  behalf  of  a  young  lady,  who  wished 
to  have  the  description  of  Melrose,  in  the  "  Lay  of  the  last  Min- 
strel," in  the  poet's  own  writing.  Scott  sent  it,  but  added  the.se 
lines  to  the  conclusion  : 


378  VIEWS  A- FOOT. 


■'  Then  go,  and  muse  with  deepest  awe 
On  what  the  writer  never  saw ; 
Who  would  not  wander  'neath  the  moon 
To  see  what  he  could  see  at  noon  !'*' 

We  went  afterwards  into  Lockhart's  library,  which  was  full  of 
interesting  objects.  I  saw  the  private  diary  of  Scott,  kept  until 
within  a  short  time  of  his  death.  It  was  melancholy  to  trace  the 
gradual  failing  of  all  his  energies  in  the  very  wavering  of  the 
autograph.  In  a  large  volume  of  his  correspondence,  containing 
letters  from  Campbell,  Wordsworth,  Byron,  and  all  the  distin- 
guished characters  of  the  age,  I  saw  Campbell's  "  Battle  of  the 
Baltic"  in  his  own  hand.  I  was  highly  interested  and  gratified 
with  the  whole  visit ;  the  more  so,  as  Mr.  Lockhart  had  invited 
me  voluntarily,  without  previous  acquaintance.  I  have  since 
heard  him  spoken  of  in  the  highest  terms  of  esteem. 

1  went  one  Sunday  to  the  Church  of  St.  Stephen,  to  hear  Croly, 
the  poet.  The  service,  read  by  a  drowsy  clerk,  was  long  and 
monotonous  ;  I  sat  in  a  side-aisle,  looking  up  at  the  dome,  and 
listening  to  the  rain  which  dashed  in  torrents  against  the  window- 
panes.  At  last,  a  tall,  gray-haired  man  came  down  the  passage. 
He  bowed  vvith  a  sad  smile,  so  full  of  benevolence  and  resigna- 
tion, that  it  went  into  my  heart  at  once,  and  I  gave  him  an  in- 
voluntary tribute  of  sympathy.  He  has  a  heavy  affliction  to 
bear — the  death  of  his  gallant  son,  one  of  the  officers  who  were 
slain  in  the  late  battle  of  Ferozeshaw.  His  whole  manner  be- 
trays the  tokens  of  subdued  but  constant  grief. 

His  sermon  was  peculiarly  finished  and  appropriate  ;  the  lan- 
guage was  clear  and  forcible,  without  that  splendor  of  thought 
and  dazzling  vividness  of  imagery  which  mark  "  Salathiel."  Yet  I 
could  not  help  noticing  that  he  delighted  to  dwell  on  the  spiritualities 
of  religion,  rather  than  its  outward  observances,  which  he  seemed 
inclined  to  hurry  over  as  lightly  as  possible.  His  mild,  gray  eye 
and  lofty  forehead  are  more  like  the  benevolent  divine  than  the 
poet.  I  thought  of  Salathiel,  and  looked  at  the  dignified,  sorrow- 
ful man  before  me.  The  picture  of  the  accursed  Judean  van- 
ished,  and  his  own  solemn  lines  rang  on  my  ear ; 


THE   CHIMES   OF   LONDON.  379 

"  The  mighty  grave 
Wraps  lord  and  slave, 
Nor  pride,  nor  poverty  dares  come 
Within  that  prison-house,  that  tomb !" 

Whenever  I  hear  them,  or  think  of  them  again,  I  shall  see,  m 
memory,  Croly's  calm,  pale  countenance. 

"  The  chimes,  the  chimes  of  Mother-land, 
Of  England,  green  and  old  ; 
That  out  from  thane  and  ivied  tower 
A  thousand  years  have  tolled  !" 

1  often  thought  of  Coxe's  beautiful  ballad,  when,  after  a  day 
spent  in  Waterloo  Place,  I  have  listened,  on  my  way  homeward, 
to  the  chimes  of  Mary-le-bone  Chapel,  sounding  sweetly  and 
clearly  above  all  the  din  of  the  Strand.  There  is  something  in 
their  silvery  vibration,  which  is  far  more  expressive  than  the  or- 
dinary tones  of  a  bell.  The  ear  becomes  weary  of  a  continued 
toll — the  sound  of  some  bells  seems  to  have  nothing  more  in  it 
than  the  ordmary  clang  of  metal — but  these  simple  notes,  follow- 
ing one  another  so  melodiously,  fall  on  the  ear,  stunned  by  the 
ceaseless  roar  of  carriages  or  the  mingled  cries  of  the  mob,  as 
gently  and  gratefully  as  drops  of  dew.  Whether  it  be  morning, 
and  they  ring  out  louder  and  deeper  through  the  mist,  or  mid- 
night, when  the  vast  ocean  of  being  beneath  them  surges  less 
noisily  than  its  wont,  they  are  alike  full  of  melody  and  poetry. 
I  have  often  paused,  deep  in  the  night,  to  hear  those  clear  tones, 
dropping  down  from  the  darkness,  thrilling,  with  their  full,  trem- 
ulous sweetness,  the  still  air  of  the  lighted  Strand,  and  winding 
away  through  dark,  silent  lanes  and  solitary  courts,  till  the  ear  of 
the  care-worn  watcher  is  scarcely  stirred  with  their  dying  vibra- 
tions. They  seemed  like  those  spirit-voices,  which,  at  such  times, 
speak  almost  audibly  to  the  heart.  How  delicious  it  must  be,  to 
those  who  dwell  within  the  limits  of  their  sound,  to  wake  from 
Bome  happy  dream  and  hear  those  chimes  blending  in  with  their 
midnight  fancies,  like  the  musical  echo  of  the  promised  bliss.  I 
love  these  eloquent  bells,  and  I  think  there  must  be  many,  living 
out  a  life  of  misery  and  suffering,  to  whom  their  tones  come  with 
an  almost  human  consolation.     The  natures  of  the  very  cockneys 


380  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


who  never  go  without  the  horizon  of  their  vibrations,  is,  to  my 
mind,  invested  with  one  hue  of  poetry  ! 

A  ^e\w  days  ago,  an  American  friend  invited  me  to  accompany 
him  to  Greenwich  Fair.  We  took  a  penny  steamer  from  Hunger- 
ford  iMarket  to  London  Bridge,  and  jumped  into  the  cars,  which 
go  every  five  minutes.  Twelve  minutes'  ride  above  the  chim- 
neys  of  London  and  the  vegetable-fields  of  Rotherhithe  and  Dept- 
ford  brought  us  to  Greenwich,  and  we  followed  the  stream  of  people 
which  was  flowing  from  all  parts  of  the  city  into  the  Park. 

Here  began  the  merriment.  We  heard  on  every  side  the  noise  of 
the  "  scratchers,"  or,  as  the  venders  of  these  articles  denominated 
them — "  the  fun  of  the  fair."  By  this  is  meant  a  little  notched 
wheel,  with  a  piece  of  wood  fastened  on  it,  like  a  miniature  watch- 
man's rattle.  The  "  fun"  consists  in  drawing  them  down  the 
back  of  any  one  you  pass,  when  they  make  a  sound  precisely 
like  that  of  ripping  cloth.  The  women  take  great  delight  in  this, 
and  as  it  is  only  deemed  politeness  to  return  the  compliment,  we 
soon  had  enough  to  do.  Nobody  seemed  to  take  the  diversion 
amiss,  but  it  was  so  irresistibly  droll  to  see  a  large  crowd  en- 
gaged in  this  singular  amusement,  that  we  both  burst  into  hearty 
laughter. 

As  we  began  ascending  Greenwich  Hill,  we  were  assailed  with 
another  kind  of  game.  The  ground  was  covered  with  smashed 
oranges,  with  which  the  people  above  and  below  were  stoutly 
pelting  each  other.  Half  a  dozen  heavy  ones  whizzed  uncom- 
fortably near  my  head  as  I  went  up,  and  I  saw  several  persons 
get  the  full  benefit  of  a  shot  on  their  backs  and  breasts.  The 
young  country  lads  and  lasses  amused  themselves  by  running  at 
full  speed  down  the  steep  side  of  a  hill.  This  was,  however,  a 
feat  attended  with  some  risk  ;  for  I  saw  one  luckless  girl  describe 
an  arc  of  a  circle,  of  which  her  feet  was  the  centre  and  her  body 
the  radius.  All  was  noise  and  nonsense.  They  ran  to  and  fro 
under  the  long,  hoary  boughs  of  the  venerable  oaks  that  crest  the 
summit,  and  clattered  down  the  magnificent  forest-avenues,  whose 
budding  foliage  gave  them  little  shelter  from  the  passing  April 
showers. 

The  view  from  the  top  is  splendid.  The  stately  Thames  curves 
through  the  plain  below,  which  loses  itself  afar  off  in  the  mist ; 


GREENWICH   FAIR.  381 

Greenwich,  with  its  massive  hospital,  lies  just  at  one's  feet,  and 
in  a  clear  day  the  domes  of  London  skirt  the  horizon.  The  wood 
of  the  Park  is  entirely  oak — the  majestic,  dignified,  English  oak — 
which  covers,  in  picturesque  clumps,  the  sides  and  summits  of 
the  two  billowy  hills.  It  must  be  a  sweet  place  in  summer, 
when  the  dark,  massive  foliage  is  heavy  on  every  mossy  arm, 
and  the  smooth  and  curving  sward  shines  with  thousands  of  field- 
flowers. 

Owing  to  the  showers,  the  streets  were  coated  with  mud,  of  a 
consistence  as  soft  and  yielding  as  the  most  fleecy  Persian  car- 
pet. Near  the  gate,  boys  were  holding  scores  of  donkeys,  which 
they  offered  us  at  threepence  for  a  ride  of  two  miles.  We  walked 
down  towards  the  river,  and  came  at  last  to  a  group  of  tumblers, 
who  with  muddy  hands  and  feet  were  throwing  somersets  in 
the  open  street.  I  recognized  them  as  old  acquaintances  of  the 
Rue  St.  Antoine  and  the  Champs  Elysees ;  but  the  little  boy 
who  cried  before,  because  he  did  not  want  to  bend  his  head  and 
feet  into  a  ring,  like  a  hoop-snake,  had  learned  his  part  better  by 
this  time,  so  that  he  went  through  it  all  without  whimpering  and 
came  off"  with  only  a  fiery  red  face.  The  exercises  of  the  young 
gentlemen  were  of  course  very  graceful  and  classic,  and  the 
effect  of  their  jposes  of  strength  was  very  much  heightened  by  the 
muddy  foot-marks  which  they  left  on  each  other's  orange-colored 
skins. 

The  avenue  of  booths  was  still  more  diverting.  Here  under 
sheets  of  leaky  awning,  were  exposed  for  sale  rows  of  gilded  gin- 
gerbread kings  and  queens,  and  1  cannot  remember  how  many 
men  and  women  held  me  fast  by  the  arms,  determined  to  force  me 
into  buying  a  pound  of  them.  We  paused  at  the  sign  :  "  Sig>."or 
Urbani's  Grand  Magical  Display."  The  title  was  attractive, 
so  we  paid  the  penny  admission,  and  walked  behind  the  dark, 
mysterious  curtain.  Two  bare  brick  walls,  three  benches  and  a 
little  boy  appeared  to  us.  A  sheet  hung  before  us  upon  which 
quivered  the  shadow  of  some  terrible  head.  At  my  friend's  com- 
mand,  the  boy  (also  a  spectator)  put  out  the  light,  when  the  awful 
and  grinning  face  of  a  black  woman  became  visible.  While  we 
were  admiring  this  striking  production,  thus  mysteriously  revealed, 
Signer  Urbani  came  in,  and  seeing  no  hope  of  any  more  specta- 


3S2  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


tors,  went  behind  the  curtain  and  startled  our  sensi-tive  nerves 
with  six  or  seven  skeleton  and  devil  apparition?'.,  winding  up  the 
wonderful  entertainment  with  the  same  black  bead.  We  signi- 
fied our  entire  approbation  by  due  applause  and  then  went  out  to 
seek  further  novelties. 

The  centre  of  the  square  was  occupied  by  swings,  where  some 
eight  or  ten  boat-loads  of  persons  were  flying  topsy-turvy  into  the 
air,  making  one  giddy  to  look  at  them,  and  constant  fearful  shrieks 
arose  from  the  lady  swingers,  at  finding  themselves  in  a  horizon- 
tal or  inverted  position,  high  above  the  ground.  One  of  the  ma- 
chines was  like  a  great  wheel,  with  four  cars  attached,  which 
mounted  and  descended  with  their  motley  freight.  We  got  into 
the  boat  by  way  of  experiment.  The  starting  motion  was  pleas- 
ant, but  very  soon  it  flew  with  a  swiftness  and  to  a  height  rather 
alarming.  I  began  to  repent  having  chosen  such  a  mode  of 
amusement,  but  held  on  as  well  as  I  could,  in  my  uneasy  place. 
Presently  we  mounted  till  the  long  beam  of  our  boat  was  horizon- 
tal;  at  one  instant,  I  saw  three  young  ladies  below  me,  with  their 
heads  downward,  like  a  shadow  in  the  water — the  next  I  was 
turned  heels  up,  looking  at  them  as  a  shadow  does  at  its  original. 
I  was  fast  becominsT  sea-sick,  when,  after  a  few  minutes  of  such 
giddy  soaring,  the  ropes  were  slackened  and  we  all  got  out,  look- 
ing somewhat  pale,  and  feeling  nervous,  if  nothing  else. 

There  were  also  many  great  tents,  hung  with  boughs  and  light- 
ed with  innumerable  colored  lamps,  where  the  people  danced 
their  country  dances  in  a  choking  cloud  of  dry  saw-dust.  Con- 
jurors and  gymnastic  performers  were  showing  off  on  conspicu- 
ous platforms,  and  a  continual  sound  of  drums,  cymbals  and  shrill 
trumpets  called  the  attention  of  the  crowd  to  some  "  Wonderful 
Exhibition" — some  infant  phenomenon,  giant,  or  three-headed 
pig.  A  great  part  of  the  crowd  belonged  evidently  to  the  very 
worst  part  of  society,  but  the  watchfulness  of  the  police  prevented 
any  open  disorder.  We  came  away  early  and  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  were  in  busy  London,  leaving  far  behind  us  the  revel  and 
debauch,  which  was  prolonged  through  the  whole  night. 

London  has  the  advantage  of  one  of  the  most  gloomy  atmos- 
pheres in  the  world.  During  this  opening  spring  weather,  no 
light  and  scarcely  an;"  warmth  can  penetrate  the  dull,  yellowish- 


A  LONDON  FOG  383 


gray  mist,  which  incessantly  hangs  over  the  city.  Sometimes 
at  noon  we  have  for  an  hour  or  two  a  sickly  gleam  of  sunshine, 
but  it  is  soon  swallowed  up  by  the  smoke  and  drizzling  fog.  The 
people  carry  umbrellas  at  all  times,  for  the  rain  seems  to  drop 
spontaneously  out  of  the  very  air,  without  waiting  for  the  usual 
preoaration  of  a  gathering  cloud.  Professor  Espy's  rules  would 
be  of  little  avail  here. 

A  few  days  ago  we  had  a  real  fog — a  specimen  of  November 
weather,  as  the  people  said.  If  November  wears  such  a  mantle, 
London,  during  that  sober  month,  must  furnish  a  good  idea  of  the 
gloom  of  Hades.  The  streets  were  wrapped  in  a  veil  of  dense 
mist,  of  a  dirty  yellow  color,  as  if  the  air  had  suddenly  grown 
thick  and  mouldy.  The  houses  on  the  opposite  sides  of  the  street 
were  invisible,  and  the  gas-lamps,  lighted  in  the  shops,  burned 
with  a  white  and  ghastly  flame.  Carriages  ran  together  in  the 
streets,  and  I  was  kept  constantly  on  the  look-out,  lest  some  one 
should  come  suddenly  out  of  the  cloud  around  me,  and  we  should 
meet  with  a  shock  like  that  of  two  knitrhts  at  a  tournament.  As 
I  stood  in  the  centre  of  Trafalgar  Square,  with  every  object  in- 
visible around  me,  it  reminded  me,  (hoping  the  comparison  will 
not  be  accepted  in  every  particular)  of  Satan  resting  in  the  mid- 
dle of  Chaos.  The  weather  sometimes  continues  thus  for  whole 
days  together. 

April  26. — An  hour  and  a  half  of  land  are  still  allowed  us, 
and  then  we  shall  set  foot  on  the  back  of  the  oak-ribbed  leviathan, 
which  will  be  our  home  until  a  thousand  leagues  of  blue  ocean 
are  crossed.  I  shall  hear  the  old  Aldgate  clock  strike  for  the 
last  time — I  shall  take  a  last  walk  through  the  Minories  and  past 
the  Tower  yard,  and  as  we  glide  down  the  Thames,  St.  Pauls, 
half-hidden  in  mist  and  coal-smoke,  will  probably  be  my  last 
glimpse  of  London. 


384  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

HOMEWARD    BOUND CONCLUSION. 

We  slid  out  of  St.  Katharine's  Dock  at  noon  on  the  appointed 
day,  and  with  a  pair  of  sooty  steamboats  hitched  to  our  vessel, 
moved  slowly  down  the  Thames  in  mist  and  drizzling  rain.  I 
stayed  on  the  wet  deck  all  afternoon,  that  I  might  more  forci- 
bly and  joyously  feel  we  were  again  in  motion  on  the  waters  and 
homeward  bound !  My  attention  was  divided  between  the  dreary 
views  of  Blackwall,  Greenwich  and  Woolwich,  and  the  motley 
throng  of  passengers  who  were  to  form  our  ocean  society.  An 
English  family,  going  out  to  settle  in  Canada,  were  gathered 
together  in  great  distress  and  anxiety,  for  the  father  had  gone 
ashore  in  London  at  a  late  hour,  and  was  left  behind.  When  we 
anchored  for  the  night  at  Gravesend,  their  fears  were  quieted  by 
his  arrival  in  a  skiff  from  the  shore,  as  he  had  immediately  fol- 
lowed us  by  railroad. 

My  cousin  and  B had  hastened  on  from  Paris  to  join  me,  and 

a  day  before  the  sailing  of  the  "  Victoria,"  we  took  berths  in  the 
second  cabin,  for  twelve  pounds  ten  shillings  each,  which  in  the 
London  line  of  packets,  includes  coarse  but  substantial  fare  for 
the  whole  voyage.  Our  funds  were  insufficient  to  pay  even  this; 
but  Captain  Morgan,  less  mistrustful  than  mj'^  Norman  landlord, 
generously  agreed  that  the  remainder  of  the  fare  should  be  paid 

in  America.     B and  I,  with  two  young  Englishmen,  took 

possession  of  a  state-room  of  rough  boards,  lighted  by  a  bull's- 
eye,  which  in  stormy  weather  leaked  so  much  that  our  trunks 
swam  in  water.  A  narrow  mattrass  and  blanket,  with  a  knap- 
.sack  for  a  pillow,  formed  a  passable  bed.  A  long  entry  between 
the  rooms,  lighted  by  a  feeble  swinging  lamp,  was  filled  with  a 
board  table,  around  which  the  thirty-two  second  cabin  passengers 


THE  CHANNEL.  385 


met  to  discuss  politics  and  salt  pork,  favorable  winds  and  hard 
sea-biscuit. 

We  lay  becalmed  opposite  Sheerness  the  whole  of  the  second 
day.  At  duslra  sudden  squall  came  up,  which  drove  us  foam- 
ing towards  the  North  Foreland.  When  I  went  on  deck  in  the 
morning,  we  had  passed  Dover  and  Brighton,  and  the  Isle  of 
Wight  was  rising  dim  ahead  of  us.  The  low  English  coast  on 
our  right  was  bordered  by  long  reaches  of  dazzling  chalky  sand, 
which  glittered  along  the  calm  blue  water. 

Gliding  into  the  Bay  of  Portsmouth,  we  dropped  anchor  oppo- 
site the  romantic  town  of  Ryde,  built  on  the  sloping  shore  of  the 
green  Isle  of  Wight.  Eight  or  nine  vessels  of  the  Experimental 
Squadron  were  anchored  near  us,  and  over  the  houses  of  Ports- 
mouth, I  saw  the  masts  of  the  Victory — the  flag-ship  in  the  battle 
of  Trafalgar,  on  board  of  which  Nelson  was  killed.  The  wind 
w^as  not  strong  enough  to  permit  the  passage  of  the  Needles,  so 
at  midnight  we  succeeded  in  wearing  back  again  into  the  channel, 
around  the  Isle  of  Wight.  A  head  wind  forced  us  to  tack  away 
towards  the  shore  of  France.  We  were  twice  in  sio;ht  of  the 
rocky  coast  of  Brittany,  near  Cherbourg,  but  the  misty  promon- 
tory of  Land's  End  was  our  last  glimpse  of  the  old  world. 

On  one  of  our  first  days  at  sea,  I  caught  a  curlew,  which  came 
flying  on  weary  wings  towards  us,  and  alighted  on  one  of  the 
boats.  Two  of  his  brethren,  too  much  exhausted  or  too  timid  to 
do  likewise,  dropped  flat  on  the  waves  and  resigned  themselves 
to  their  fate  without  a  struggle.  I  slipped  up  and  caught  his 
long,  lank  legs,  while  he  was  resting  with  flagging  wings  and 
half-shut  eyes.  We  fed  him,  though  it  was  diificult  to  get  any- 
thing down  his  reed-shaped  bill ;  but  he  took  kindly  to  our  force- 
work,  and  when  we  let  him  loose  on  the  deck,  walked  about  with 
an  air  quite  tame  and  familiar.  He  died,  however,  two  days  after- 
wards. A  French  pigeon,  which  was  caught  in  the  rigging,  Jived 
and  throve  during  the  whole  of  the  passage. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  a  heavy  storm  came  on,  and  we  were 
all  sleepless  and  sea-sick,  as  long  as  it  lasted.  Thanks,  however, 
to  a  beautiful  law  of  memory,  the  recollection  of  that  dismal  pe- 
riod soon  lost  its  unpleasantness,  while  the  grand  forms  of  beauty 
the  vexed  ocean  presented,  will   remain   forever,   as  distinct  and 

18 


386  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


abiding  images.  I  kept  on  deck  as  long  as  I  could  stand,  watch- 
ing the  giant  waves  over  which  our  vessel  took  her  course.  They 
rolled  up  towards  us,  thirty  or  forty  feet  in  height — dark  gray 
masses,  changing  to  a  beautiful  vitriol  tint,  wherever  the  light 
struck  through  their  countless  and  changing  crests.  It  was  aj 
glorious  thing  to  see  our  good  ship  mount  slowly  up  the  side  of 
one  of  these  watery  hills,  till  her  prow  was  lifted  high  in  air, 
then,  rocking  over  its  brow,  plunge  with  a  slight  quiver  down- 
ward, and  plough'  up  a  briny  cataract,  as  she  struck  the  vale.  I 
never  before  realized  the  terrible  sublimity  of  the  sea.  And  yet 
it  was  a  pride  to  see  how  man — strong  in  his  godlike  will — could 
bid  defiance  to  those  whelming  surges,  and  brave  their  wrath 
unharmed. 

We  swung  up  and  down  on  the  billows,  till  we  scarcely  knew 
which  way  to  stand.     The  most  grave  and  sober  personages  sud- 
denly  found  themselves   reeling   in  a   very  undignified   manner, 
and   not  a   few   measured  their  lengths  on   the  slippery   decks. 
Boxes    and    barrels    were   affected   in  like   manner ;  everything 
danced   around   us.     Trunks  ran    out    from   under  the  berths  ; 
packages  leaped  down  from  the   shelves;  chairs  skipped  across 
the  rooms,  and  at  table,  knives,   forks   and  mugs  engaged   in  a 
general  waltz  and  Ireak  down.     One  incident  of  this  kind  was 
rather  laughable.     One  night,  about  midnight,   the  gale,   which 
had  been  blowing  violently,  suddenly  lulled,  "  as  if,"  to  use  a  sai- 
lors phrase,  "  it  had  been  chopped  off!"     Instantly  the  ship  gave 
a  tremendous  lurch,  which  was  the  signal  for  a  general  breaking 
loose.     Two  or  three  others  followed,  so  violent,  that  for   a  mo- 
ment I  imagined  the  vessel  had  been  thrown  on  her  beam  ends. 
Trunks,  crockery  and  barrels  went  banging  down  from  one  end 
of  the  ship  to  the  other.     The  women  in  the  steerage  set  up  an 
awful  scream,  and  the  German  emigrants,  thinking  we   were  in 
terrible  danger,  commenced  praying  with  might  and   main.     In 
the   passage    near  our  room    stood    several  barrels,  filled   with 
broken  dishes,  which  at  every  lurch  went  banging  from  side  to 
side,  jarring  the  board  partition  and   making  a    horrible   din.     I 
shall  not  soon   forget  the  Babel  which   kept  our  eyes  open  that 
night. 

The  19th  of  May  a  calm  came  on.     Our  white  wings  flapped 


ON  THE  ATLANTIC.  387 

idly  on  the  mast,  and  only  the  top-gallant  sails  were  bent  enough 
occasionally  to  lug  us  along  at  a  mile  an  hour.  A  barque  from 
Ceylon,  making  the  most  of  the  wind,  with  every  rag  of  canvass 
set,  passed  us  slowly  on  the  way  eastward.  The  sun  went  down 
unclouded,  and  a  glorious  starry  night  brooded  over  us.  Its 
clearness  and  brightness  were  to  me  indications  of  America.  I 
longed  to  be  on  shore.  The  forests  about  home  were  then  clothed 
in  the  delicate  green  of  their  first  leaves,  and  that  bland  weather 
embraced  the  sweet  earth  like  a  blessing  of  heaven.  The  gentle 
breath  from  out  the  west  seemed  made  for  the  odor  of  violets,  and 
as  it  came  to  me  over  the  slightly-ruffled  deep,  I  thought  how  much 
sweeter  it  were  to  feel  it,  while  "  wasting  in  wood-paths  the  volup- 
tuous hours." 

Soon  afterwards  a  fresh  wind  sprung  up,  which  increased  rap- 
idly, till  every  sail  was  bent  to  the  full.  Our  vessel  parted  the 
brine  with  an  arrowy  glide,  the  ease  and  grace  of  which  it  is  im- 
possible  to  describe.  The  breeze  held  on  steadily  for  two  or 
three  days,  which  brought  us  to  the  southern  extremity  of  the 
Banks.  Here  the  air  felt  so  sharp  and  chilling,  that  I  was  afraid 
we  might  be  under  the  lee  of  an  iceberg,  but  in  the  evening  the 
dull  gray  mass  of  clouds  lifted  themselves  from  the  horizon,  and 
the  sun  set  in  clear,  American  beauty  away  beyond  Labrador. 
The  next  morning  we  were  enveloped  in  a  dense  fog,  and  the 
wind  which  bore  us  onward  was  of  a  piercing  coldness.  A  sharp 
look-out  was  kept  on  the  bow,  but  as  we  could  see  but  a  short 
distance,  it  might  have  been  dangerous  had  we  met  one  of  the 
Arctic  squadron.  At  noon  it  cleared  away  again,  and  the  bank 
of  fog  was  visible  a  long  time  astern,  piled  along  the  horizon, 
reminding  me  of  the  Alps,  as  seen  from  the  plains  of  Piedmont. 

On  the  31st,  the  fortunate  wind  which  carried  us  from  the 
Banks,  failed  us  about  thirty-five  miles  from  Sandy  Hook.  We 
lay  in  the  midst  of  the  mackerel  fishery,  with  small  schooners 
anchored  all  around  us.  Fog,  dense  and  impenetrable,  weighed 
on  the  moveless  ocean,  like  an  atmosphere  of  wool.  The  only 
incident  to  break  the  horrid  monotony  of  the  day,  was  the  arrival 
of  a  pilot,  with  one  or  two  newspapers,  detailing  the  account  of 
the  Mexican  war.  We  heard  in  the  afternoon  the  booming  of  the 
surf  along  the  low  beach  of  Long  Island — hollow  atid  faint,  like 


388  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  murmur  of  a  shell.  When  the  mist  lifted  a  little,  we  saw  the 
faint  line  of  breakers  along  the  shore.  The  Germans  gathered 
on  deck  to  sing  their  old,  familiar  songs,  and  their  voices  blended 
beautifully  together  in  the  stillness. 

Next  morning  at  sunrise  we  saw  Sandy  Hook ;  at  nine  o'clock 
we  were  telegraphed  in  New  York  by  the  station  at  Coney  Island  ; 
at  eleven  the  steamer  "  Hercules"  met  us  outside  the  Hook ;  and 
at  noon  we  were  gliding  up  the  Narrows,  with  the  whole  ship's 
company  of  four  hundred  persons  on  deck,  gazing  on  the  beau- 
tiful shores  of  Staten  Island  and  agreeing  almost  universally,  that 
it  was  the  most  delightful  scene  they  had  ever  looked  upon. 

And  now  I  close  the  story  of  my  long  wandering,  as  I  began  it 
—with  a  lay  written  on  the  deep. 

HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

Farewell  to  Europe !     Days  have  come  and  gone 
Since  misty  England  set  behind  the  sea. 
Our  ship  climbs  onward  o'er  the  lifted  waves, 
That  gather  up  in  ridges,  mountain-high, 
And  like  a  sea-god.  conscious  in  his  power. 
Buffets  the  surges.     Storm-arousing  winds 
That  sweep,  unchecked,  from  frozen  Labrador, 
Make  wintry  music  through  the  creaking  shrouds. 
Th*  horizon's  ring,  that  clasps  the  dreary  view, 
Lays  mistily  upon  the  gray  Atlantic's  breast. 
Shut  out,  at  times,  by  bulk  of  sparry  blue, 
That,  rolling  near  us,  heaves  the  swaying  prow 
High  on  its  shoulders,  to  descend  again 
Ploughing  a  thousand  cascades,  and  around 
Spreading  the  frothy  foam.     These  watery  gulfs, 
With  storm,  and  winds  far-sweeping,  hem  us  in, 
Alone  upon  the  waters! 

Days  must  pass — 
Many  and  weary — between  sea  and  sky. 
Our  eyes,  that  long  e'en  now  for  the  fresh  green 
Of  sprouting  forests,  and  the  far  blue  stretch 
Of  regal  mountains  piled  along  the  sky, 
Must  see,  for  many  an  eve,  the  level  sun 
Sheathe,  with  his  latest  gold,  the  heaving  brine, 
By  thousand  ripples  shivered,  or  Night's  pomp 
Brftoding  in  silence,  ebon  and  profound, 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  389 

Upon  the  murmuring  darkness  of  the  deep, 

Broken  by  flashings,  that  the  parted  "wave 

Sends  white  and  star-like  through  its  bursting  foam. 

Yet  not  more  dear  the  opening  dawn  of  heaven 

Poured  on  the  earth  in  an  Italian  May, 

When  souls  take  wings  upon  the  scented  air 

Of  starry  meadows,  and  the  yearning  heart 

Pains  with  deep  sweetness  in  the  balmy  time, 

Than  these  gray  morns,  and  days  of  misty  blue. 

And  surges,  never-ceasing ; — for  our  prow 

Points  to  the  sunset  like  a  morning  ray, 

And  o'er  the  waves,  and  through  the  sweeping  storms, 

Through  day  and  darkness,  rushes  ever  on, 

Westward  and  Vv^estAvard  still !     What  joy  can  send 

The  spirit  thrilling  onward  with  the  wind. 

In  untamed  exultation,  like  the  thought 

That  fills  the  Homeward  Bound  ? 

Country  and  home! 
Ah !  not  the  charm  of  silver-tongued  romance, 
Born  of  the  feudal  time,  nor  whatsoe'er 
Of  dying  glory  fills  the  golden  realms 
Of  perished  song,  where  heaven-descended  Art 
Still  boasts  her  later  triumphs,  can  compare 
With  that  one  thought  of  liberty  inherited — 
Of  free  life  giv'n  b}^  fathers  who  were  free. 
And  to  be  left  to  children  freer  still ! 
That  pride  and  consciousness  of  manhood,  caught 
From  boyish  musings  on  the  holy  graves 
Of  hero-martyrs,  and  from  every  form 
Which  virgin  Nature,  mighty  and  unchained, 
Takes  in  an  empire  not  less  proudly  so — 
Inspired  in  mountain  airs,  untainted  yet 
By  thousand  generations'  breathing — felt 
Like  a  near  presence  in  the  awful  depths 
Of  unhewn  forests,  and  upon  the  steep 
Where  giant  rivers  take  their  maddening  plunge- 
Has  grown  impatient  of  the  stifling  damps 
Which  hover  close  on  Europe's  shackled  soil. 
Content  to  tread  awhile  the  holy  steps 
Of  Art  and  Genius,  sacred  through  all  time, 
The  spirit  breathed  that  dull,  oppressive  air — 
Which,  freighted  with  its  tyrant-clouds,  o'erweighs 
The  upward  throb  of  many  a  nation's  «oul — 
Amid  those  olden  memories,  felt  the  thrall. 


390  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


But  kept  tlie  birth-right  of  its  freer  home. 
Here,  on  the  world's  blue  highway,  comes  again 
The  voice  of  Freedom,  heard  amid  the  roar 
Of  sundered  billows,  while  above  the  wave 
Rise  visions  of  the  forest  and  the  stream. 
Like  trailing  robes  the  morning  mists  uproll, 
Torn  by  the  mountain  pines :  the  flashing  rills 
Shout  downward  through  the  hollows  of  the  vales ; 
Down  the  great  river's  bosom  shining  sails 
Glide  with  a  gradual  motion,  while  from  all — 
Hamlet,  and  bowered  homestead,  and  proud  town — 
Voices  of  joy  ring  far  up  into  heaven ! 

Yet  louder,  winds  I     Urge  on  our  keel,  ye  waves, 
Swift  as  the  spirit's  yearnings !     "We  would  ride 
With  a  loud  stormy  motion  o'er  your  crests. 
With  tempests  shouting  like  a  sudden  joy — 
Interpreting  our  triumph !     'Tis  your  voice. 
Ye  unchained  elements,  alone  can  speak 
The  sympathetic  feeling  of  the  free — 
The  arrowy  impulse  of  the  Homeward  Bound! 


I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  excitement  of  that  afternoon. 
After  thirty-seven  days  between  sky  and  water,  any  shore  would 
have  been  beautiful,  but  when  it  was  home,  after  we  had  been  two 
years  absent,  during  an  age  when  time  is  always  slow,  it  required  a 
powerful  effort  to  maintain  any  propriety  of  manner.  The  steward 
prepared  a  parting  dinner,  much  better  than  any  we  had  had  at  sea ; 
but  I  tried  in  vain  to  eat.  Never  were  trees  such  a  glorious  green 
as  those  around  the  Quarantine  Buildings,  M^here  we  lay  to  for  half 
an  hour,  to  be  visited  by  the  physician.  The  day  was  cloudy,  and 
thick  mist  hung  on  the  tops  of  the  hills,  but  I  felt  as  if  I  could  never 
tire  looking  at  the  land. 

At  last  we  approached  the  city.  It  appeared  smaller  than  when 
I  left,  but  this  might  have  been  because  I  was  habituated  to  the 
broad  distances  of  the  sea.  Our  scanty  baggage  was  brought  on 
deck,  for  the  inspection  of  the  custom-house  officer,  but  we  were 
neither  annoyed  nor  delayed  by  the  operation.  The  steamer  by 
this  time  had  taken  us  to  the  pier  at  Pine-street  wharf,  and  the  slight 


LANDING  AT  NEW- YORK.  391 


jar  of  the  vessel  as  she  came  alongside,  sent  a  thrill  of  delight 
through  our  frames.  But  when  finally  the  ladder  was  let  down,  and 
we  sprang  upon  the  pier,  it  was  with  an  electric  shock,  as  if  of  recog- 
nition from  the  very  soil.  It  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
and  we  were  glad  that  night  was  so  near  at  hand.  After  such 
strong  excitement,  and  even  bewilderment  of  feeling  as  we  had 
known  since  morning,  the  prospect  of  rest  was  very  attractive. 

But  no  sooner  were  we  fairly  deposited  in  a  hotel,  than  we  must 
needs  see  the  city  again.  How  we  had  talked  over  this  hour  !  How 
we  had  thought  of  the  life,  the  neatness,  the  comfort  of  our  Ameri- 
can cities,  when  rambling  through  some  filthy  and  depopulated 
capital  of  the  Old  World  !  At  first  sight,  our  anticipations  were  not 
borne  out ;  there  had  been  heavy  rains  for  a  week  or  two,  and  the 
streets  were  not  remarkably  clean  ;  houses  were  being  built  up  or 
taken  down,  on  all  sides,  and  the  number  of  trees  in  full  foliage, 
every  where  visible,  gave  us  the  idea  of  an  immense  unfinished 
country  town.  I  took  this  back,  it  is  true,  the  next  morning,  when  the 
sun  was  br'ght  and  the  streets  were  thronged  with  people.  But  what 
activity,  what  a  restless  eagerness  and  even  keenness  of  expression 
on  every  countenance.!  I  could  not  have  believed  that  the  general 
cast  of  the  American  face  was  so  sharp  ;  yet  nothing  was  so  re- 
markable as  the  perfect  independence  of  manner  which  we  noticed 
in  all,  down  to  the  very  children.  I  can  easily  conceive  how  this 
should  jar  with  the  feelings  of  a  stranger,  accustomed  to  the  defer- 
ence, not  to  say  servility,  in  which  the  largest  class  of  the  people 
of  Europe  is  trained  ;   but  it  was  a  most  refreshing  change  to  us. 

Life  at  sea  sharpens  one's  sensibilities  to  the  sounds  and  scents 
of  land,  in  a  very  high  degree.  We  noticed  a  difference  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  different  streets,  and  in  the  scent  of  leaves  and  grass, 
which  a  land  friend  who  was  with  us  failed  entirely  to  distinguish. 
The  next  day,  as  we  left  New- York,  and  in  perfect  exultation  of 
spirit  sped  across  New  Jersey,  (which  was  never  half  so  beautiful 
to  our  eyes,)  I  could  feel  nothing  but  one  continued  sensation  of  the 
country — fragrant  hay-field  and  wild  clearing,  garden  and  marshy 
hollow,  and  the  cool  shadow  of  the  woodlands — I  was  by  turns  pos- 
seted with  the  spirit  of  them  all.      The  twilight  deepened  as  we 


392  VIEWS  A-FOCT. 


passed  dpwn  the  Delaware  ;  I  stood  on  the  promenade  deck  and 
watched  the  evening  star  kindling  through  the  cloudless  flush  of 
sunset,  while  the  winds  that  came  over  the  glassy  river  bore  me  the 
odor  of  long-remembered  meadow  flowers.  We  asked  each  other 
what  there  was  in  the  twilights  of  Florence  and  Vallambrosa  more 
delicious  than  this  ? 

A  night  in  neat,  cheerful,  home-like  Philadelphia,  whose  dimen- 
sions were  also  a  little  shrunken  in  our  eyes,  and  a  glorious  June 
morning  broke  on  the  last  day  of  our  pilgrimage.  Again  we  were 
on  the  Delaware,  pacing  the  deck  in  rapture  at  the  green,  luxuriant 
beauty  of  its  shores.  Is  it  not  worth  years  of  absence,  to  learn  how 
to  love  one's  land  as  it  should  be  loved  ?  Two  or  three  hours 
brought  us  to  Wilmington,  in  Delaware,  and  within  twelve  miles  of 
home.  Now  came  the  realization  of  a  plan  we  had  talked  over  a 
hundred  times,  to  keep  up  our  spirits  when  the  weather  was  gloomy, 
or  the  journey  lay  through  some  waste  of  barren  country.  Our 
knapsacks,  which  had  been  laid  down  in  Paris,  were  again  taken 
up,  slouched  German  hats  substituted  for  our  modern  black  cylin- 
ders, belt  and  blouse  donned,  and  the  pilgrim  staff"  grasped  for  the 
rest  of  our  journey.  But  it  was  part  of  ou*-  plan,  that  we  should 
not  reach  home  till  after  nightfall ;  we  could  not  think  of  seeing  any 
one  we  knew  before  those  who  were  nearest  to  us ;  and  so  it  was 
necessary  to  wait  a  few  hours  before  starting. 

The  time  came  :   that  walk  of  three  or  four  hours  seemed  longer 
than  many  a  day's  tramp  of  thirty  miles,  but  every  step  of  the  way 
was  familiar  ground.     The  people  we  met  stared,  laughed,  or  look- 
ed suspiciously  after  us,  but  we  were  quite  insensible  to  any  obser- 
vation.     We  only  counted  the  fields,   measured  the  distance  from 
hill  to  hill,  and  watched  the  gradual  decline  of  the  broad,  bright  sun. 
It  went  down  at  last,   and  our  homes  were  not  far  off.      When  the 
twilight  grew  deeper,  we  parted,   and  each  thought  what  an  experi- 
ence lay  between  that  moment  and  the  next  morning.     I  took  to  the 
fields,   plunged  into  a  sea  of  dewy  clover,   and   made   for  a  ligh 
which  began  to  glimmer  as  it  grew  darker.      When  I  reached  it 
and  looked  with  the  most  painful  excitement  through  the  window  a 
the  unsuspecting  group  within,  there  was  not  onn  face  missing. 


REQUISITES  FOR  A  PEDESTRIAN.  393 


CHAPTER     S.LIX. 

ADVICE    AND    INFORMATION    FOR   PEDESTRIANS. 

Although  the  narrative  of  my  journey,  "  with  knapsack  and 
staff,"  is  now  strictly  finished,  a  few  more  words  of  explanation 
seem  necessary,  to  describe  more  fully  the  method  of  traveling 
which  we  adopted.  I  add  them  the  more  willingly,  as  it  is  my  be- 
lief that  many,  whose  circumstances  are  similar  to  mine,  desire  to 
undertake  the  same  romantic  journey.  Some  matter-of-fact  state- 
ments may  be  to  them  useful  as  well  as  interesting. 

To  see  Europe  as  a  pedestrian  requires  little  preparation,  if  the 
traveler  is  willing  to  forego  some  of  the  refinements  of  living  to 
which  he  may  have  been  accustomed,  for  the  sake  of  the  new  and 
interesting  fields  of  observation  which  will  be  opened  to  him.  He 
must  be  content  to  sleep  on  hard  beds,  and  partake  of  coarse  fare ; 
to  undergo  rudeness  at  times  from  the  officers  of  the  police  and  the 
porters  of  palaces  and  galleries ;  or  to  travel  for  hours  in  rain  and 
storm,  without  finding  a  shelter.  The  knapsack  will  at  first  be 
heavy  upon  the  shoulders,  the  feet  will  be  sore  and  the  limbs  weary 
with  the  day's  walk,  and  sometimes  the  spirit  will  begin  to  flag  un- 
der the  general  fatigue  of  body.  This,  however,  soon  passes  over. 
In  a  week's  time,  if  the  pedestrian  does  not  attempt  too  much  on 
setting  out,  his  limbs  are  stronger,  and  his  gait  more  firm  and  vigor- 
ous ;  he  lies  down  at  night  with  a  feeling  of  refreshing  rest,  sleeps 
with  a  soundness  undisturbed  by  a  single  dream,  that  seems  almost 
like  death,  if  he  has  been  accustomed  to  restless  nights ;  and  rises 
invigorated  in  heart  and  frame  for  the  next  day's  journey.  The 
coarse  black  bread  of  the  peasant  inns,  with  cheese  no  less  coarse, 
and  a  huge  mug  of  milk  or  the  nourishing  beer  of  Germany,  have 

18* 


31)4  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


a  relish  to  his  keen  appetite,  which  excites  his  own  astonishment. 
And  if  he  is  willing  to  regard  all  incivility  and  attempts  at  imposi- 
tion as  valuable  lessons  in  the  study  of  human  nature,  and  to  keep 
his  temper  and  cheerfulness  in  any  situation  which  may  try  them, 
he  is  prepared  to  walk  through  the  whole  of  Europe,  with  more  real 
pleasure  to  himself,  and  far  more  profit,  than  if  he  journeyed  in 
stvle  and  enjoyed  (?)  the  constant  services  of  couriers  and  valets  de 
place. 

Should  his  means  become  unusually  scant,  he  will  find  it  possible 
to  travel  on  an  amazingly  small  pittance,  and  with  more  actual 
bodily  comfort  than  would  seem  possible,  to  one  who  has  not  tried 
it.  I  was  more  than  once  obliged  to  walk  a  number  of  days  in  suc- 
cession, on  less  than  a  franc  a  day,  and  found  that  by  far  the  great- 
est drawback  to  my  enjoyment  was  the  fear  that  I  might  be  without 
relief  when  this  allowance  should  be  exhausted.  One  observes,  ad- 
mires, wonders  and  learns  quite  as  extensively,  under  such  circum- 
stances, as  if  he  had  unlimited  means.  Perhaps  some  account  of 
this  truly  pilgrim-like  journeying,  may  possess  a  little  interest  for 
the  general  reader. 

The  only  expense  that  cannot  be  reduced  at  will,  in  Europe,  is 
that  for  sleeping.  You  may  live  on  a  crust  of  bread  a  day,  but 
lower  than  four  cents  for  a  bed  you  cannot  go !  In  Germany  this 
is  the  regular  price  paid  by  traveling  journeymen,  and  no  one  need 
wish  for  a  more  comfortable  resting  place,  than  those  massive  boxes, 
(when  you  have  become  accustomed  to  their  shortness,)  with  their 
coarse  but  clean  linen  sheets,  and  healthy  matresses  of  straw.  In 
Italy  the  price  varies  from  half  a  paul  to  a  paul,  (ten  cents,)  but  a 
person  somev/hat  familiar  with  the  language  would  not  often  be 
asked  more  than  the  former  price,  for  which  he  has  a  bed  stuffed 
with  corn-husks,  larjie  enouirh  for  at  least  three  men,  I  was  asked 
in  France,  five  sous  in  all  the  village  inns,  from  Marseilles  to  Dieppe. 
The  pedestrian  cares  far  more  for  a  good  rest,  than  for  the  quality 
of  his  fare,  and  a  walk  of  thirty  miles  prepares  him  to  find  it,  on  the 
hardest  couch.  I  usually  rose  before  sunrise,  and  immediately  be- 
gan the  day's  journey,  the  cost  of  lodging  having  been  paid  the  night 


LIFE  IN   THE  OPEN  AIR.  395 


before — a  universal  custom  among  the  common  inns,  which  are  fre- 
quented by  the  peasantry.  At  the  next  village,  I  would  buy  a  loaf 
of  the  hard  brown  bread,  with  some  cheese,  or  butter,  or  whatever 
substantial  addition  could  be  made  at  trifling  cost,  and  breakfast  up. 
on  a  bank  by  the  roadside,  lying  at  full  length  on  the  dewy  grass, 
and  using  my  knapsack  as  a  table.  I  might  also  mention  that  a 
leathern  pouch,  fastened  to  one  side  of  this  table,  contained  a  knife 
and  fork,  and  one  or  two  solid  tin  boxes,  for  articles  which  could  not 
be  carried  in  the  pocket.  A  similar  pouch  at  the  other  side  held 
pen  and  ink,  and  a  small  bottle,  which  was  filled  sometimes  with  the 
fresh  water  of  the  streams,  and  sometimes  with  the  common  country 
wine,  of  the  year's  vintage,  which  costs  from  three  to  six  sous  the 
quart. 

After  walking  more  than  half  the  distance  to  be  accomplished, 
with  half  an  hour's  rest,  dinner  would  be  made  in  the  same  manner, 
and  while  we  rested  the  full  hour  allotted  to  the  mid-day  halt,  guide- 
books would  be  examined,  journals  written,  a  sketch  made  of  the 
landscape,  or  our  minds  refreshed  by  reading  a  passage  in  Milton  or 
Childe  Harold.  If  it  was  during  the  cold,  wet  days  of  winter,  we 
sought  a  rock,  or  sometimes  the  broad  abutment  of  a  chance  bridge, 
upon  which  to  lie ;  in  summer,  it  mattered  little  whether  we  rested 
in  sun  or  shade,  under  a  bright  or  rainy  sky.  The  vital  energy 
which  this  life  in  the  open  air  gives  to  the  constitution,  is  remarka- 
ble. The  very  sensation  of  health  and  strength  becomes  a  positive 
luxury,  and  the  heart  overflows  with  its  buoyant  exuberance  of  cheer- 
fulness. Every  breath  of  the  fresh  morning  air  was  like  a  draught 
of  some  sparkling  elixir,  gifted  with  all  the  potency  of  the  undis- 
covered Fountain  of  Youth.  We  felt  pent  and  oppressed  within  the 
walls  of  a  dwelling  ;  it  was  far  more  agreeable  to  march  in  the  face 
of  a  driving  shower,  under  whose  beating  the  blood  grew  fresh  and 
warm,  than  to  sit  by  a  dull  fireplace,  waiting  for  it  to  cease.  Al- 
though  I  had  lived  mainly  upon  a  farm  till  the  age  of  seventeen,  and 
was  accustomed  to  out-door  exercise,  I  never  before  felt  how  much 
life  one  may  draw  from  air  and  sunshine  alone. 

Thus,  what  at  first  was  borne  as  a  hardship,  became  at  last  an 


396  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


enjoyment,  and  there  seemed  to  me  no  situation  so  extreme,  that  i 
did  not  possess  some  charm  to  my  mind,   which  made  me  unwilling 
to  shrink  from  the  experience.      Still,   as  one  depth  of  endurance 
after  another  was  reached,  the  words  of  Cicero  would  recur  to  me 
as  encouragement — "  Perhaps  even  this  may  hereafter  be  remem 
bered  with  pleasure."     Once  only,  while  waiting  six  days  at  Lyons 
in  gloomy  weather  and  among  harsh  people,  without  a  sous,   and 
with  a  strong  doubt  of  receiving  any  relief,   I  became  indifferent  tc 
what  might  happen,  and  would  have  passively  met  any  change  foi 
the  worse — as  men  who  have  been  exposed  to  shipwreck  for  days, 
scarce  make  an  effort  to  save  themselves  when  the  vessel  strikes  at 
last. 

One  little  experience  of  this  kind,  though  less  desperate,  may  be 
worth  relating.  It  happened  during  my  stay  in  Florence  ;  and  what 
might  not  a  man  bear,  for  the  sake  of  living  in  the  midst  of  such  a  pa- 
radise ?  My  comrade  and  I  had  failed  to  receive  a  remittance  at  the 
expected  time,  and  our  funds  had  gone  down  to  zero.  The  remaining 
one  of  our  trio  of  Americans,  who  had  taken  a  suite  of  rooms  in 
company,  a  noble-hearted  Kentuckian,  shared  his  own  means  with  us, 
till  what  he  had  in  Florence  was  nearly  exhausted.  His  banker 
lived  in  Leghorn,  and  he  concluded  to  go  there  and  draw  for  more, 

instead  of  having  it  sent  through  a  correspondent.     B decided 

to  accompany  him,  and  two  young  Englishmen,  who  had  just  arrived 
on  foot  from  Geneva,  joined  the  party.  They  resolved  on  making 
an  adventure  out  of  the  expedition,  and  it  was  accordingly  agreed 
that  they  should  take  one  of  the  market-boats  of  the  Arno,  and  sail 
down  to  Pisa,  more  than  fifty  miles  distant,  by  the  river.  We  paid 
one  or  two  visits  to  the  western  gate  of  the  city,  where  numbers  of 
these  craft  always  lie  at  anchor,  and  struck  a  bargain  with  a  sturdy 
boatman,  that  he  should  take  them  for  a  scudo  (about  one  dollar) 
each. 

The  hour  of  starting  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  I  ac- 
companied  them  to  the  starting  place.  The  boat  had  a  slight  canvas 
covering,  and  the  crew  consisted  only  of  the  owner  and  his  son  An- 
tonio, a  boy  of  ten.     I  shall  not  recount  their  voyage  all  that  night, 


STARVATION  EXPERIENCE.  397 

Mk       ■■■■^■■1  -..-I  II  ..  ■—  -  ■-  ■-.—-..     —^Il-.^MIM  — ^^^ 

(which  was  so  cold,  that  they  tied  each  other  up  in  tlie  boatman's 
meal-bags,  around  the  neck,  and  lay  down  in  a  heap  on  the  ribbed 
bottom  of  the  boat,)  nor  their  adventures  in  Pisa  and  Leghorn. 
They  were  to  be  absent  three  or  four  days,  and  had  left  me  money 
enough  to  live  upon  in  the  meantime,  but  the  next  morning  an  un- 
expected expense  consumed  nearly  the  whole  of  it.  I  had  about 
four  crazie  (three  cents)  a  day  for  my  meals,  and  by  spending  one 
of  these  for  bread,  and  the  remainder  for  ripe  figs,  of  which  one 
crazie  will  purchase  fifteen  or  twenty,  I  managed  to  make  a  diminu- 
tive breakfast  and  dinner,  but  was  careful  not  to  take  much  exercise, 
on  account  of  the  increase  of  hunger.  As  it  happened,  my  friends 
remained  two  days  longer  than  I  had  expected,  and  the  last  two 
crazie  I  had  were  expended  for  one  day's  provisions.  1  then  decid- 
ed to  try  the  next  day  without  any  thing,  and  actually  felt  a  curi- 
osity to  know  what  one's  sensations  would  be,  on  experiencing  two 
or  three  days  of  starvation.  I  knew  that  if  the  feeling  should  be- 
come insupportable,  I  could  easily  walk  out  to  the  mountain  of 
Fiesole,  where  a  fine  fig  orchard  shaded  the  old  Roman  amphithea- 
tre. But  the  experiment  was  broken  off  in  its  commencement,  by 
the  arrival  of  the  absent  ones,  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  Such  is 
the  weakness  of  human  nature,  that  on  finding  I  should  not  want 
for  breakfast,  I  arose  from  bed,  and  ate  two  or  three  figs  which,  by 
a  strong  exertion,  I  had  saved  from  the  scanty  allowance  of  the  day. 
I  only  relate  this  incident  to  show  that  the  severest  deprivation  is 
very  easily  borne,  and  that  it  is  worth  bearing  for  what  it  teaches. 

So  also,  when  a  storm  came  up  at  nightfall,  while  we  were  a 
league  distant  from  the  end  of  our  journey,  after  the  first  natural 
shrinking  from  its  violence  was  over,  there  was  a  sublime  pleasure 
in  walking  in  the  midst  of  darkness  and  dashing  rain.  There  have 
been  times  when  the  sky  was  black,  just  revealing  its  deeps  of 
whelming  cloud,  and  the  winds  full  of  the  cold,  fresh,  saddening 
spirit  of  the  storm,  which  I  would  not  have  exchanged  for  the  bright- 
ness of  a  morninCT  beside  the  sea. 

A  few  words  in  relation  to  a  pedestrian's  equipment  may  be  of 
«ome  practical  value.      An  idea  of  the  general  appearance  of  the 


398  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


traveling  costume  of  a  German  student,  which  I  adopted  as  the  most 
serviceable  and  agreeable,  may  be  obtained  from  the  portrait  accon> 
panying  this  volume,  but  there  are  many  small  particulars,  in  addi-. 
tion,  which  I  have  often  been  asked  to  give.  It  is  the  best  plan  to 
take  no  more  clothing  than  is  absolutely  required,  as  the  traveler 
will  not  desire  to  carry  more  than  fifteen  pounds  on  his  back,  knap- 
sack included.  A  single  suit  of  good  dark  cloth,  with  a  supply  of 
linen,  will  be  amply  sufficient.  The  strong  linen  blouse,  confined  by 
a  leather  belt,  will  protect  it  from  the  dust,  and  when  this  is  thrown 
aside  on  entering  a  city,  the  traveler  makes  a  very  respectable  ap- 
pearance. The  slouched  hat  of  finely- woven  felt,  is  a  delightful 
covering  to  the  head,  serving  at  the  same  time  as  umbrella  or  night- 
cap, traveling  dress  or  visiting  costume.  No  one  should  neglect  a 
good  cane,  which,  besides  its  feeling  of  companionship,  is  equal  to 
from  three  to  five  miles  a  day,  and  may  serve  as  a  defence  against 
banditti,  or  savage  Bohemian  dogs.  In  the  Alps,  the  tall  staves, 
pointed  with  iron,  and  topped  with  a  curved  chamois  horn,  can  be 
bought  for  a  franc  apiece,  and  are  of  great  assistance  in  crossing 
ice-fields,  or  sustaining  the  weight  of  the  body  in  descending  steep 
and  difficult  passes. 

An  umbrella  is  inconvenient,  unless  it  is  short  and  may  be  strapped 
on  the  knapsack,  but  even  then,  an  ample  cape  of  oiled  silk  or  India 
rubber  cloth  is  far  preferable.  The  pedestrian  need  not  be  particu- 
lar in  this  respect ;  he  will  soon  grow  accustomed  to  an  occasional 
drenching,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  men,  like  plants,  do  not  thrive 
under  it,  Vv^hen  they  have  outgrown  the  hot-house  nature  of  civiliza- 
tion, in  a  life  under  the  open  heaven.  A  portfolio,  capable  of  hard 
service,  wdth  a  guide-book  or  two,  pocket-compass  and  spy-glass, 
completes  the  contents  of  the  knapsack,  though  if  there  is  still  a 
small  corner  to  spare,  I  would  recommend  that  it  be  filled  with 
pocket  editions  of  one  or  two  of  the  good  old  English  classics.  It  is 
a  rare  delight  to  sit  down  in  the  gloomy  fastnesses  of  the  Hartz,  or 
in  the  breezy  valleys  of  Styria,  and  read  the  majestic  measures  of 
our  glorious  Saxon  bards.  Milton  is  first  fully  appreciated,  when 
you  look  up  from  his  page  to  the  snowy  ramparts  of  the  Alps,  which 


ACCOMPLISHMENTS  AND  EQUIPMENTS.  399 

shut  out  all  but  the  Heaven  of  whose  beauty  he  sang ;  and  all  times 
and  places  are  fitting  for  the  universal  Shakspeare.  Childe  Harold 
bears  such  a  glowing  impress  of  the  scenery  on  which  Byron's  eye 
has  dwelt,  that  it  spoke  to  me  like  the  answering  heart  of  a  friend, 
from  the  crag  of  Drachenfels,  in  the  rushing  of  the  arrowy  Rjone, 
and  beside  the  breathing  marbles  of  the  Vatican  and  the  Capitol. 

A  little  facility  in  sketching  from  nature  is  a  most  useful  and  de- 
lightful  accomplishment  for  the  pedestrian.  He  may  bring  away 
the  features  of  wild  and  unvisited  landscapes,  the  picturesque  fronts 
of  peasant  cottages  and  wayside  shrines,  or  the  simple  beauty  of 
some  mountain  child,  watching  his  herd  of  goats.  Though  having 
little  knowledge  and  no  practice  in  the  art,  J  persevered  in  my 
awkward  attempts,  and  was  soon  able  to  take  a  rough  and  rapid, 
but  tolerably  correct  outline  of  almost  any  scene.  These  memori- 
als of  two  years  of  travel  have  now  a  value  to  me,  which  I  would 
not  exchange  for  the  finest  engravings,  however  they  might  excel  in 
faithful  representation.  Another  article  of  equipment,  which  I  had 
almost  forgotten  to  mention,  is  a  small  bottle  of  the  best  Cogniac, 
with  which  to  bathe  the  feet,  morning  and  evening,  for  the  first  week 
or  two,  or  as  long  as  they  continue  tender  with  the  exercise.  It  was 
also  very  strengthening  and  refreshing,  when  the  body  was  unusu- 
ally weary  with  a  long  day's  walking  or  climbing,  to  use  as  an  ouU 
ward  stimulant ;  for  I  never  had  occasion  to  apply  it  internally. 
Many  of  the  German  students  wear  a  wicker  flask,  slung  over  their 
shoulder,  containing  kirschwasser,  which  they  mix  with  the  water 
of  the  mountain  streams,  but  this  is  not  at  all  necessary  to  the  travel- 
er's health  and  comfort. 

These  students,  with  all  their  irregularities,  are  a  noble,  warm- 
hearted class,  and  make  the  best  companions  in  the  world.  During 
the  months  of  August  and  September,  hundreds  of  them  ramble 
through  Switzerland  and  the  Tyrol,  extending  their  route  sometimes 
to  Venice  and  Rome.  With  their  ardent  love  for  every  thing  re- 
publican, they  will  always  receive  an  American  heartily,  consecrate 
him  as  a  bursch,  and  admit  him  to  their  fellowship.  With  the  most 
of  them,  an  economy  of  expense  is  part  of  the  habit  of  their  student- 


400  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


life,  and  they  are  only  spendthrifts  on  the  articles  of  beer  and  to- 
bacco. A  month's  residence  in  Heidelberg,  the  most  beautiful  place 
in  Germany,  will  serve  to  make  the  young  American  acquainted 
with  their  habits,  and  able  to  join  them  for  an  adventurous  foot- 
journey,  with  the  greatest  advantage  to  himself. 

We  always  accepted  a  companion,  of  whatever  kind,  while  walk- 
ing— from  chimney-sweeps  to  barons.  In  a  strange  country  one 
can  learn  something  from  every  peasant,  and  we  neglected  no  op- 
portunity, not  only  to  obtain  information,  but  to  impart  it.  We  found 
every  where  great  curiosity  respecting  America,  and  we  were  always 
glad  to  tell  them  all  they  wished  to  know.  In  Germany,  we  were 
generally  taken  for  Germans  from  some  part  of  the  country  where 
the  dialect  was  a  little  different,  or,  if  they  remarked  our  foreign 
peculiarities,  they  supposed  we  were  either  Poles,  Russians,  or 
Swiss.  The  greatest  ignorance  in  relation  to  America,  prevails 
among  the  common  people.  They  imagine  we  are  a  savage  race, 
without  intelligence  and  almost  without  law.  Persons  of  education, 
who  had  some  slight  knowledge  of  our  history,  showed  a  curiosity 
to  know  something  of  our  political  condition.  They  are  taught  by 
the  German  newspapers  (which  are  under  a  strict  censorship  in  this 
respect)  to  look  only  at  the  evil  in  our  country,  and  they  almost  in- 
variably began  by  adverting  to  Slavery  and  Repudiation.  While 
we  admitted,  often  with  shame  and  mortification,  the  existence  of 
things  so  inconsistent  with  true  republicanism,  we  endeavored  to 
make  them  comprehend  the  advantages  enjoyed  by  the  free  citizen 
— the  complete  equality  of  birth — which  places  America,  despite 
her  sins,  far  above  any  other  nation  on  earth.  I  could  plainly  see, 
by  the  kindling  eye  and  half-suppressed  sigh,  that  they  appreciated 
a  freedom  so  immeasurably  greater  than  that  which  they  enjoyed. 

In  large  cities  we  always  preferred  to  take  the  second  or  third- 
rate  hotels,  which  are  generally  visited  by  merchants  and  persons 
who  travel  on  business  ;  for,  with  the  same  comforts  as  the  first 
rank,  they  are  nearly  twice  as  cheap.  A  traveler,  with  a  guide- 
book and  a  good  pair  of  eyes,  can  also  dispense  with  the  services 
of  a  courier,  whose  duty  it  is  to  conduct  strangers  about  the  city, 


INNS  AND  PASSPORTS.  401 

from  one  lion  to  another.  We  chose  rather  to  find  out  and  view  the 
"sights"  at  our  leisure.  In  small  villages,  where  we  were  often 
obliged  to  stop,  we  chose  the  best  hotels,  which,  particularly  in 
Northern  Germany  and  in  Italy,  are  none  too  good.  But  if  it  was 
a  post,  that  is,  a  town  where  the  post-chaise  stops  to  change  horses, 
we  usually  avoided  the  post-hotel,  where  one  must  pay  high  for 
having  curtains  before  his  windows  and  a  more  elegant  cover  on  hia 
bed.  In  the  less  splendid  country  inns,  we  always  found  neat,  com- 
fortable lodging,  and  a  pleasant,  friendly  reception  from  the  people. 
They  saluted  us  on  entering,  with  "  Be  you  welcome,"  and  on  leav- 
ing, wished  us  a  pleasant  journey  and  good  fortune.  The  host,  when 
he  brought  us  supper  or  breakfast,  lifted  his  cap,  and  wished  us  a 
good  appetite — and  when  he  lighted  us  to  our  chambers,  left  us  with 
"  May  you  sleep  well !"  We  generally  found  honest,  friendly  peo- 
ple ;  they  delighted  in  telling  us  about  the  country  around ;  what 
ruins  there  were  in  the  neighborhood — and  what  strange  legends 
were  connected  with  them.  The  only  part  of  Europe  where  it  is 
unpleasant  to  travel  in  this  manner,  is  Bohemia.  We  could  scarcely 
find  a  comfortable  inn  ;  the  people  all  spoke  an  unknown  language, 
and  were  not  particularly  celebrated  for  their  honesty.  Beside  this, 
travelers  rarely  go  on  foot  in  those  regions ;  we  were  frequently 
taken  for  traveling  handwerker,  and  subjected  to  imposition. 

With  regard  to  passports,  although  they  were  vexatious  and  often 
expensive,  we  found  little  difficulty  when  we  had  acquainted  our- 
selves with  the  regulations  concerning  them.  In  France  and  Ger- 
many they  are  comparatively  little  trouble  ;  in  Italy  they  are  the 
traveler's  greatest  annoyance.  Americans  are  treated  with  less 
strictness,  in  this  respect,  than  citizens  of  other  nations,  and,  owing 
to  the  absence  of  rank  among  us,  they  also  enjoy  greater  advantages 
of  acquaintance  and  intercourse. 

The  expenses  of  traveling  in  England,  although  much  greater 
than  in  our  own  country,  may,  as  we  learned  by  experience,  be 
brought,  through  economy,  within  the  same  compass.  Indeed,  it  is 
my  belief,  from  observation,  that,  with  few  exceptions,  throughout 
Europe,  where  a  traveler  enjoys  the  same  comfort  and  abundance 


402  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


as  in  America,  he  must  pay  the  same  prices.  The  principal  differ- 
ence is,  that  he  only  pays  for  what  he  gets,  so  that,  if  he  be  content 
with  the  necessities  of  life,  without  its  luxuries,  the  expense  is  in 
proportion. 

The  best  coin  for  the  traveler's  purpose,  is  English  gold,  which 
passes  at  a  considerable  premium  on  the  Continent,  and  is  readily 
accepted  at  all  the  principal  hotels.  Having  to  earn  my  means  as  I 
went  along,  I  was  obliged  to  have  money  forwarded  in  small  remit- 
tances, generally  in  drafts  on  the  house  of  Hottingeur  &  Co.,  in 
Paris,  which  could  be  cashed  in  any  large  city  of  Europe.  If  only 
a  short  tour  is  intended,  and  the  pedestrian's  means  are  limited,  he 
may  easily  carry  the  necessary  amount  with  him.  There  is  little 
danger  of  robbery  for  those  who  journey  in  such  an  humble  style. 
I  never  lost  a  single  article  in  this  manner,  and  rarely  had  any  feel- 
ing but  that  of  perfect  security.  No  part  of  our  own  country  is 
safer  in  this  respect  than  Germany,  Switzerland  or  France.  Italy 
still  bears  an  unfortunate  reputation  for  honesty ;  the  defiles  of  the 
Apennines  and  the  hollows  of  the  Roman  Campagna  are  haunted  by 
banditti,  and  pei'sons  who  travel  in  their  own  carriages  are  often 
plundered.  I  saw  the  caves  and  hiding-places  of  these  outlaws 
among  the  evergreen  shrubbery,  in  the  pass  of  Monte  Somma,  near 
Spoleto,  but  as  we  had  a  dragoon  in  the  crazy  old  vehicle,  we  feared 
no  hinderance  from  them.  A  Swedish  gentleman  in  Rome  told  me 
he  had  walked  from  Ancona,  through  the  mountains  to  the  Eternal 
Cil/,  partly  by  night,  but  that,  although  he  met  with  many  meaning 
faces,  he  was  not  disturbed  in  any  way.  An  English  artist  of  my 
acquaintance  walked  from  Leghorn  along  the  Tuscan  and  Tyrrhen3 
coast  to  Civita  Vecchia,  through  a  barren  and  savage  district,  over- 
grown with  aloes  and  cork-trees,  without  experiencing  any  trouble, 
except  from  the  extreme  curiosity  of  the  ignorant  inhabitants.  The 
fastnesses  of  the  Abruzzi  have  been  explored  with  like  facility  by 
daring  pedestrians ;  indeed,  the  sight  of  a  knapsack  seems  to  serve 
as  a  free  passport  with  all  highwaymen. 

I  have  given,  at  times,  through  the  foregoing  chapters,  the  cost 
of  portions  of  my  journey  and  residence  in  various  cities  of  Europe. 


EXPENSES  OF  A  TWO  YEARS'  JOURNEY. 


403 


The  cheapest  country  for  traveling,  as  far  as  my  experience  extend- 
ed, is  Southern  Germany,  where  one  can  travel  comfortably  on 
twenty-five  cents  a  day.  Italy  and  the  south  of  France  come  next 
in  order,  and  are  but  little  more  expensive ;  then  follow  Switzerland 
and  Northern  Germany,  and  lastly,  Great  Britain.  The  cheapest 
•  city,  and  one  of  the  pleasantest  in  the  world,  is  Florence,  where  we 
breakfasted  on  five  cents,  dined  sumptuously  on  twelve,  and  went  to 
a  good  opera  for  ten.  A  man  would  find  no  difficulty  in  spending  a 
year  there,  for  about  $250.  This  fact  may  be  of  some  importance 
to  those  whose  health  requires  such  a  stay,  yet  are  kept  back  from 
attempting  the  voyage  through  fear  of  the  expense.  Counting  the 
passage  to  Leghorn  at  fifly  or  sixty  dollars,  it  will  be  seen  how  little 
is  necessary  for  a  year's  enjoyment  of  the  sweet  atmosphere  of  Italy. 
In  addition  to  these  particulars,  the  following  connected  estimate 
will  better  show  the  minimum  expense  of  a  two  years'  pilgrimage : 


Voyage  to  Liverpool,  in  the  second  cabin,  ....    $24  00 

Three  weeks'  travel  in  Ireland  and  Scotland,            .             .             .  25  00 

A  week  in  London,  at  three  shillings  a  day,       .             .             ,             .  4  50 

From  London  to  Heidelberg,             .              .              .             .             ,  15  00 

A  month  at  Heidelberg,  and  trip  to  Frankfort,                .             .             .  20  00 

Seven  months  in  Frankfort,  at  $10  per  month,         .             .             .  70  00 

Fuel,  passports,  excursions  and  other  expenses,                .              .              .  30  00 

Tour  through  Cassel,  the  Hartz,  Saxony,  Austria,  Bavaria,  &-c.,       .  40  00 

A  month  in  Frankfort,                .             .             .             .             .             .  10  00 

From  Frankfort  through  Switzerland,  and  over  the  Alps  to  Milan,   .  15  00 

From  Milan  to  Genoa,                ......  60 

Expenses  from  Genoa  to  Florence,                .             .             .             .  14  00 

Four  months  in  Florence,            .             .             .             .             .             .  50  00 

Eight  days'  journey  from  Florence  to  Rome,  two  weeks  in  Rome,  voyage 

to  Marseilles,  and  journey  to  Paris,             .             .             .             .  40  00 

Five  weeks  in  Paris,              .              .              .              ,             .              .  15  00 

From  Paris  to  London,               .             .             .             .             .             .  8  00 

Six  weeks  in  London,  at  thre«  shillings  a  day,          .             .             .  31  00 

Passage  home,                .             -             .             .             ,             .             .  60  00 


$472  00 


404  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


The  cost  for  places  of  amusement,  guides'  fees,  and  other  small 
expenses,  not  included  in  this  list,  increase  the  sum  total  to  $500, 
for  which  the  tour  may  be  made.  Now  having,  I  hope,  established 
this  to  the  reader's  satisfaction,  I  respectfully  take  leave  of  him. 


r   V^ 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 
on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


i?ECDi:D 


JAN  2  0  1962 

^{^^^m.    1  1978 


EEaciR.AUG  U78 


TA 


REC.  CIR.     APR  10    T 


'0 


INTERLIBRARY  LOftN 


SEP  13  1990 


iiNlv.  OFCAL'P   R 


9K. 


SENT  ON  ILL 


JAN  2  7  1999 


U.  C.  S£;RK.i£LEY 


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